NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
LX^rduiu^i:
NOTHING
OF IMPORTANCE
A RECORD OF EIGHT MONTHS AT THE
FRONT WITH A WELSH BATTALION
OCTOBER, 1915, TO JUNE, 1916
BY
BERNARD ADAMS
WITH A PORTBAIT AND THREE MAPS
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
First Published in igij
CNiy. PI CAUF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
TO
T. R. G.
WHO TAUGHT ME HOW TO THINK
<^ X /»G Cl'-O v>'<J
In Memoriam
BERNARD ADAMS
JOHN BERNARD PYE ADAMS was born on
November 15th, 1890, at Beckenham, Kent.
From his first school at Clare House, Becken-
ham, he obtained an entrance scholarship to
Malvern, where he gained many Classical and
English prizes and became House Prefect. In
December, igo8, he won an open Classical scholar-
ship at St John's College, Cambridge, where he
went into residence in October, 1909. He was
awarded in 1911 Sir William Browne's gold medals
(open to the University) for a Greek epigram and
a Latin ode, and in 1912 he won the medal for the
Greek epigram again, and graduated with a First
Class in the Classical Tripos. In his fourth year he
read Economics.
On leaving Cambridge he was appointed by the
India Office to be Warden and Assistant Educational
Adviser at the Hostel for Indian Students at
Cromwell Road, South Kensington. " He threw
himself," writes Dr. T. W. Arnold, CLE., Secretary
of Indian Students, " with the enthusiasm of his
vii
viii NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
ardent nature into the various activities connected
with 21 Cromwell Road, and endeared himself both
to the Indian students and to his colleagues."
Adams was always a quiet man, but his high
abilities, despite his unobtrusiveness, could not be
altogether hidden ; and in London, as in Cambridge,
his intellect and his gift for friendship had their
natural outcome. Mr. E. W. Mallet, of the India
Office, bears testimony to " the very high value
which we all set on his work. He had great gifts
of sympathy and character, strength as well as
kindHness, influence as well as understanding ;
and these qualities won him — in the rather diffi-
cult work in which he helped so loyally and well —
a rare and noticeable measure of esteem," On
his side, he felt that the choice had been a right
one ; he liked his work, and he learned a great deal
from it.
His ultimate purpose was missionary work in
India, and the London experience brought him
into close touch with Indians from every part of
India and of every religion.
In November, 1914, he joined up as lieutenant
in the Welsh regiment with which these pages
deal, and he obtained a temporary captaincy in the
following spring. When he went out to the front
in October, 191 5, he resumed his lieutenancy, but
was very shortly given charge of a company, a
position which he retained until he was wounded
in June, 1916, when he returned to England. He
BERNARD ADAMS ix
only went out to the front again on January 31st
of this year. In the afternoon of February 26th he
was wounded while leading his men in an attack
and died the following day in the field hospital.
These few sentences record the bare landmarks
of a career which, in the judgment of his friends,
would have been noteworthy had it not been so
prematurely cut short. For instance, here is what
his friend, T. R, Glover, of St John's, wrote in
The E.igle (the St John's College magazine) and
elsewhere :
" Bernard Adams was my pupil during his
Classical days at St John's, and we were brought
into very close relations. He remains in my mind
as one of the very best men I have ever had to teach
— best every way, in mind and soul and all his
nature. He had a natural gift for writing — a
natural habit of style ; he wrote without artifice,
and achieved the expression of what he thought
and what he felt in language that was simple and
direct and pleasing. (A College Prize Essay of his
of those days was printed in The Eagle (vol. xxvii,
47-60) — on Wordsworth's Prelude.) He was a
man of the quiet and reserved kind, who did not
talk much, for whom, perhaps, writing was a more
obvious form of utterance than speech.
It was clear to those who knew him that he
put conscience into his thinking — ^he was serious,
above all about religion, and he was honest with
X NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
himself. Other people will take religion at second-
hand ; he was of another type. He thought things
out quietly and clearly, and then decided. His
choice of Economics as a second subject at Cam-
bridge was dictated by the feeling that it would
prepare him for his life's work in the Christian
ministry. There was little hope in it of much
academic distinction — but that was not his object.
A man who had thought more of himself would have
gone on with Classics, in the hope (a very reason-
able one) of a Fellowship. Adams was not working
for his own advancement. The quiet simple way
in which, without referring to it, he dismissed
academic distinction, gives the measure of the
man — clear, definite, unselfish, and devoted. His
ideal was service, and he prepared for it — at Cam-
bridge, and with his Indian students in London.
When the war came he had difficulties of decision
as to the course he should pursue. Like others
who had no gust for war, and no animosity against
the enemy, he took a commission, not so much to
fight against as to fight for ; the principles at stake
appealed to him, and with an inner reluctance
against the whole business he went into it — once
again the quiet, thought-out sacrifice."
In this phase of his career his characteristic con-
scientiousness was shown by the thoroughness and
success with which he performed his military duties
" He is a real loss to the regiment," wu'te a senior
BERNARD ADAMS xi
officer ; " everybody who knew him had a very high
opinion of his miHtary efficiency."
As is so often the case, a quiet and reserved
manner hid a brave heart. When it came to per-
sonal danger he impressed men as being uncon-
scious of it. "I never met a man who displayed
coolly more utter disregard for danger." And in
this spirit he led his men against the enemy — and
fell. From the last message that he gave the nurse
for his people, " Tell them I'm all right," it is clear
that he died with as quiet a mind and as surrendered
a will as he lived.
" What we have lost who knew him," writes Mr.
Glover, " these Unes may hint — I do not think we
really know the extent of our loss. But we keep
a great deal, a very great deal — quidquid ex illo
amavimus, quidquid mirati sumus, manet man-
surumque est. Yes, that is true ; and from the first
my sorrow (it may seem an odd confession) was for
those who were not to know him, whose chance was
lost, for the work he was not to do. For himself, if
ever a man Uved his life, it was he ; twenty-five or
twenty-six years is not much, perhaps, as a rule,
but here it was hfe and it was lived to some pur-
pose ; it told and it is not lost."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGB
XV
Preface .....
I. First Impressions
II. CUINCHY AND GiVENCHY
III. Working-Parties ....
IV. Rest
V. On the March ....
VI. The Bois Fran(^ais Trenches
VII. More First Impressions
VIII. Sniping .....
IX. On Patrol
X. " Whom the gods love "
XI. " Whom the gods love " — {continued)
XII. Officers' Servants
XIII. Mines .
XIV. Billets
XV. " A certain Man drew a Bow at a
Venture
XVI. Wounded
XVII. Conclusion
I
19
42
64
87
96
117
133
154
163
181
195
212
229
256
268
294
xiv NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
MAPS
FACING PACSE
I. Bethune and La Bass^e, Neighbour-
hood OF ...... 9
II. Fricourt and Neighbourhood ... 97
III. The Trenches near Fricourt . . . 103
ILLUSTRATION
Portrait of Author .... Frontispiece
PREFACE
"'"I "^HEN," said my friend, " what is this war
I like ? I ask you if it is this, or that ; and
JL you shake your head. But you will not
satisfy me with negatives. I want to know the
truth ; what is it like ? "
There was a long silence.
" Express that silence ; that is what we want to
hear."
" The mask of glory," I said, " has been stripped
from the face of war."
" And we are fighting the better for that," con-
tinued my friend.
" You see that ? " I exclaimed. " But of course
you do. We know it, and you at home know it.
And you want to know the truth ? "
" Of course," was the reply.
" I do not say that what you have read is not
true," said I ; " but I do say that I have read
nothing that gives a complete or proportioned
picture. I have not yet found a perfect simile for
this war, but the nearest I can think of is that of a
pack of cards. Life in this war is a series of events so
utterly different and disconnected, that the effect
xvi NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
upon the actor in the midst of them is like receiving
a hand of cards from an invisible dealer. There are
four suits in the pack. Spades represent the dull-
ness, mud, weariness, and sordidness. Clubs stand
for another side, the humour, the cheerfulness, the
jolUty, and good-fellowship. In diamonds I see the
glitter of excitement and adventure. Hearts are
a tragic suit of agony, horror, and death. And to
each man the invisible dealer gives a succession of
cards ; sometimes they seem all black ; sometimes
they are red and black alternately ; and at times
they come red, red, red ; and at the end is the ace
of hearts."
" I understand," said my friend. " And now tell
me your hand."
" It was a long hand," I replied ; " I think I had
better try and write it down in a book. I have never
written a book. I wonder how it would pan out ?
At first my hand was chiefly black with a sprinkHng
of diamonds ; later I received more diamonds, but
the hearts began to come as well ; at last the
hearts seemed to be squeezing out the clubs and
diamonds. There were always plenty of spades."
There was another silence.
" There was one phrase," I resumed, " in the
daily communiques that used to strike us rather
out there ; it was, " Nothing of importance to
record on the rest of the front." I believe that a
hundred years hence this phrase will be repeated in
the history books. There will be a passage like
PREFACE xvii
this : " Save for the gigantic effort of Germany
to break through the French Hnes at Verdun,
nothing of importance occurred on the western
front between September, 1915, and the opening
of the Somme offensive on the ist of July, igi6,"
And this will be beheved, unless men have learnt
to read history aright by then. For the river of
history is full of waterfalls that attract the day
excursionist — such as battles, and laws, and the
deaths of kings ; whereas the spirit of the river is
not in the waterfalls. There are men who were
wounded in the Somme battle, who had only seen
a few weeks of war. I have yet to see a waterfall ;
but I have learned something of the spirit of the
deep river in eight months of " nothing of import-
ance."
This, then, is the book that I have written. It
is the spirit of the war as it came to me, first in big
incoherent impressions, later as a more intelligible
whole. Perhaps it will seem that the first chapters
are somewhat Ught in tone and incUned to gloss
over the terrible side of War. But that is just
what happens ; at first, the interest and adventure
are paramount, and it is only after a time, only after
all the novelty has worn away, that one gets the
real proportion. If the first chapters do not bite
deep, remember that this was my experience.
This book does not claim to be always sensational
or thrilling. One claim only I make for it : from
end to end it is the truth.
xviii NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
The events recorded are real and true in every
detail. I have nowhere exaggerated ; for in this
war there is nothing more terrible than the truth.
All the persons mentioned are also real, though
I have thought it better to give them pseudonyms.
January^ 1917.
NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
CHAPTER I
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
GOOD-BYE ! "
"Good-bye. Don't forget to send me
that Hun helmet!"
" All right ! Good-bye ! "
The train had long ago recovered from the shock
of its initial jerk ; a long steady grinding noise came
up from the carriage wheels, as though they had
recovered breath and were getting into their stride
for Folkestone, regardless of the growing clatter of
the South-Eastern rhythm ; — if, indeed, so noble a
word may be used for the noise made by the wheels
as they passed over the rail-joints of this distin-
guished line,
" Don't believe it's a good thing having one's
people to see you off," said Terry, whose people had
accompanied him in large numbers to Charing Cross.
" They will come, though," remarked Crowley
very wisely.
2 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" I tried to persuade my people not to come," said
I ; " but they think you like it, I suppose. I would
certainly rather say good-bye at home, and have no
one come to the station."
And so I started off my experience of " the great
adventure " with a "lie direct " : but it does not
weigh very heavily upon my conscience.
Six of us sat in a first-class carriage on the morn-
ing of the 5th of October, 1915 : for months we
had been together in a reserve battalion waiting to
go out to the front, and now at last we had received
marching orders, and were bound for Folkestone,
and thence for France. For which battalion of our
regiment any or all of us twelve officers were
destined, we had no knowledge whatever ; but even
the most uncongenial pair of us would, I am sure,
have preferred each other's company to that of
complete strangers. I, at any rate, have never in
my life felt more shy and self-conscious and full of
stupid qualms : unless, indeed, it was on the occa-
sion, ten months before, when I had stood shaking
in front of a platoon of twenty men !
The last few days I had gone about feeling as
though the news that I was going to the front were
printed in large letters round my cap. I felt that
people in the railway carriages, and in the streets,
were looking at me with an electric interest ; and
the necessary (and unnecessary !) purchases, as well
as the good-byes, were of the kind to make one feel
placed upon a pedestal of importance ! Now, in
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 8
company with five other officers in like predicament,
I felt already that I had climbed down a step from
that pedestal ; in fact, the whole experience of the
first few days was one of a steady reduction from
all-importance to complete insignificance 1
As soon as we had recovered from the silence that
followed my remarks upon the disadvantages of
prolonged valedictions, we commenced a critical
survey of our various properties and accoutrements.
Revolvers leapt from brand new holsters ; feet were
held up to show the ideal trench-nails ; flash lamps
and torches, compasses, map-cases, pocket medicine-
cases, all were shown with an easy confidence of
manner that screened a sinking dread of disapproba-
tion. The prismatic compass was regarded rather
as a joke by some of us ; its use in trench warfare
was a doubtful quantity ; yet there were some of us
who in the depths of our martial wisdom were half
expecting that the Battle of Loos was the prelude
of an autumn campaign of open-country warfare.
There was only one man whose word we took for
law in anything, and that was Barrett. He had
spent five days in the trenches last December ; he
had then received his commission in our battalion.
He was the " man from the front." And I noticed
with secret misgivings that he had not removed the
badges of rank from his arm, or sewed his two stars
upon his shoulder-straps ; he had not removed his
bright buttons, and substituted for them leather
ones such as are worn on golfing-jackets ; and in
4 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
his valise, he told us, he had his Sam Browne
belt.
" But you never wear Sam Brownes out there,"
I said : "all officers now dress as much as possible
like the men,"
That was so, we were informed ; but officers used
to wear them in billets, when they were out of the
firing-line.
" Well," said Crowley, " we could get them sent
out, I expect."
" Yes," said I ; "I expect they would arrive
safely."
But this infantile conversation is not worthy of
record ! Suffice to say we knew nothing about war,
and were just beginning to learn that fact !
The first check to our enthusiasm was at Folke-
stone. We reported to the railway transport officer,
whom we then regarded as a little demi-god ; he
told us to report in time for the boat at a certain
hour. This we did, signed our names with a feeling
of doing some awful and irrevocable deed, and then
were told to wait another three hours : there was
no room for us on this boat ! We retired to an hotel
with a feeling that perhaps after all there was no
such imperious shouting for our help over in France,
such as we had all, I think (save only Barrett, who
was cynical and pessimistic !) secretly imagined.
Darkness came ere we started. The crossing did
not seem long, and I stood up on deck with Barrett
most of the time. Two destroyers followed a Uttle
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 5
astern, one on either side ; and there were lights
right across the Channel. We were picked out by
searchHghts more than once, although all lights were
forbidden on board. I felt that I was now fair game
for the Germans ; and it was exciting to think that
they would give anything to sink me ! At last I was
in for " the great adventure."
At Boulogne we had to wait a long time on a
dismal quay and in a drizzUng rain to interview an
irritated and sleepy railway transport officer.
After a long, long queue had been safely negociated
we were given tickets to ; and then again we
had to wait quite an hour on the platform. Some of
our party were excited at their first visit to a foreign
soil ; but their enthusiasm abated when at the
buffet they were charged exorbitant prices and
their Enghsh money was rejected as " dam fool
money."
Then there came a long jerky journey through
the night in a crowded carriage. (As I am out for
confessions, I will here state that I did not think
this could be an ordinary passenger train, and I
wondered vaguely who these men and women were
who got in and out of other carriages !) At Staples
there was a still longer wait, and a still longer queue ;
but, fortunately, my signature had not lengthened.
I remember sitting tired and dazed on the top of a
valise, and asking Barrett what the time was.
" Three forty-five ! "
" What a time to arrive ! " I replied. But in war
6 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
three forty-five is as good a time as any other, I
was soon to discover.
We walked to a camp a mile distant from the
station ; our arrival seemed quite unlooked for, and
a quartermaster-sergeant had to be procured, by
the officer who was our guide, in order to gain access
to the tent that contained the blanket stores.
Wearily, at close on five o'clock, we fell asleep on
the boarded bottom of a bell-tent.
It must have been about lo a.m. on the 6th when
we turned out and found ourselves in a sandy
country ; behind us was a small ridge, crowned by
a belt of fir trees ; the sun was well up and shone
warm on the face as we washed and shaved in the
open. The feeling of camp was exhilarating, and I
was in good spirits.
But two blows immediately damped my ardour
most effectively. When I learned that I was posted
to our first battahon, and I alone of all of us twelve,
the thought of my arrival among the regulars, with
no experience, and not even an acquaintance, far
less a friend, was distinctly chilling ! To add to my
discomfiture there befell a second misfortune : my
valise was nowhere to be seen !
Indeed, the rest of the day was chiefly occupied
in searching for my valise, but to no purpose what-
ever. I did not see it until ten days later, when by
some miracle it appeared again ! I can hardly
convey the sense of depression these two facts cast
over me the next few days ; the interest and novelty
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 7
of my experiences made me forget for short periods,
but always there would return the thought of my
arrival alone into a Hne regiment, and with the
humiliating necessity of borrowing at once. Un-
known and inexperienced I could not help being ;
but as a fool who lost all his property the first day,
I should not cut a brilhant figure !
We obtained breakfast at an estaminet by the
station ; omelettes, rolls and butter, and cafe noir.
I bought a French newspaper, and thought how
finely my French would improve under this daily
necessity ; but I soon found that one could get the
Paris edition of the Daily Mail, and my French is
still as sketchy as ever ! I remember watching the
French children and the French women at the doors
of the houses, and wondering what they thought of
this war on their own soil ; I knew that the wild
enthusiasms of a year ago had died down ; I did not
expect the shouting and singing, the souvenir-hunt-
ing, and the generous impulses that greeted our
troops a year ago ; but I felt so vividly myself the
fact that between me and the Germans lay only a
Uving wall of my own countrymen, that I could not
help thinking these urchins and women must feel it
too ! The very way in which they swept the door-
steps seemed to me worth noting at the moment.
In the course of my wild peregrinations over the
camp in search of my valise, I came upon a group of
Tommies undergoing instruction in the machine-gun.
Arrested by a familiar voice, I recognised as in-
8 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
stnictor a man I had known very weU at Cambridge !
He recognised me at the same moment, and in a few
seconds we parted, after an invitation from him to
dinner that evening ; he was on " lines of com-
munication " work, he told me.
Sitting in his tent after Mess, I was amazed at the
apparent permanence of his abode ; shelves, made
out of boxes ; novels, an army list, magazines, maps ;
bed, washstand, candlesticks, a chair ; baccy, and
whisky and soda ! It was all so snug and comfort-
able. I was soon to find mj^self accumulating a very
similar collection in billets six miles behind the firing-
line, and taking most of it into the trenches ! I
remember being impressed by the statement that
the cannonade had been heard day after day since
the 25th, and still more impressed by references to
" the plans of the Staff ! "
I left Staples early on the morning of the 7th,
after receiving instructions, and a railway warrant
for " Chocques," from a one-armed major of the
Gordons. Of our original twelve only Terr}' and
Crowley remained with me ; with a young Scot,
we had a grey-upholstered first-class carriage to
ourselves.
In the train I commenced my first letter home ;
and I should here hke to state that the reason for
the inclusion in these first chapters of a good many
extracts from letters is that they do really represent
my first vague, rather disconnected, impressions,
and are therefore truer than any more coherent
e
r
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 9
account I might now give. First impressions of
people, houses, places, are always interesting ; I
hope that the reader will not find these without
interest, even though he may find them at times
lacking in style.
" I am now in the train. We are passing level-
crossings guarded by horn-blowing women ; the
train is strolling leisurely along over grass-grown
tracks, and stopping at platformless stations. It is
very hot. At midday I shall be about ten miles from
the firing-line, and I expect the cannonade will be
pretty audible. I feel strangely indifferent to things
now, though I have the feeUng that all this will be
stamped indelibly on my memory." How well I
remember the thrill of excitement when I found the
name Chocques on my map, quite close to the
firing-line ! And as we got nearer, and saw R.A.M.C.
and cavalry camps, and talked to Tommies guarding
the line, saw aeroplanes, and yes ! a captive balloon,
excitement grew still greater ! At last we reached
Chocques, and the railway transport officer calmly
informed us that we had another four miles to go.
He brilHantly suggested walking. But an A. B.C.
lorry was there, and in we climbed, only to be ejected
by the corporal ! Eventually we tramped to Bethune
with very full packs in a hot sun.
Walking gave us opportunity for observation ;
and that road was worth seeing to those who had
not seen it before. There were convoys of A.S.C.
lorries, drawn up (or " parked ") in twenties or
10 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
thirties alongside the road, each with its mystical
marking, a scarlet shell, a green shamrock, etc.,
painted on its side ; Red Cross ambulances passed,
impelling one to turn back and look in them, some-
times containing stretcher-cases (feet only visible),
or sitting cases with bandaged head or arm in sling.
Then there were motor-cars with Staff officers ;
motor-cars with youthful officers in immaculate
Sam Brownes and " slacks " ; and as we drew
nearer Bethune, we saw canteens with Tommies
standing and lounging outside, small squads of men,
English notices, and boards with painted inscriptions.
such as
BILLETS.
Officers — 2
Men — 30
or
H.Q.
117th Inf. Bde.
and in the distance loomed the square tower of the
cathedral, which I thought then to be a decapitated
spire.
And so we came into the bustle of a French city.
I had never heard of Bethune before. As the
crow flies it is about five to six miles from the front
trenches. The shops were doing a roaring trade,
and I was amazed to see chemists flaunting auto-
strop razors, stationers offering " Tommy's writing-
pad," and tailors showing English officers' uniforms
in their windows, besides all the goods of a large and
populous town. We were very hungry and tired,
and fate directed us to the famous tea-shop, where,
at dainty tables, amid crowds of officers, we obtained
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 11
an English tea ! I was astounded ; so were we all.
To think that I had treasured a toothbrush as a
thing that I might not be able to replace for months !
Here was everything to hand. Were we really with-
in six miles of the Germans ? Yet officers were dis-
cussing " the hot time we had yesterday " ; while
" we only came out this morning," or " they whizz-
banged us pretty badly last night," were remarks
from officers redolent of bath and the hairdresser !
Buttons brilliantly polished, boots shining like
advertisements, swagger-canes, and immaculate
collars, gave the strangest first impression of
" active service " to us, with our leather equipment,
packs, leather buttons, and trench boots !
" Old Barrett was right about the Sam Brownes,"
I said to Terry, vainly trying to look at my ease.
" Let's look at your map," he answered. Then,
after a moment :
" Oh, we're not far from the La Bassee Canal.
I've heard of that often enough ! "
" So have I," I replied. " Is La Bassee ours or
theirs ? "
" Ours, of course " ; but he borrowed the map
again to make sure !
Refreshed, but feeling strangely " out " of every-
thing, we eventually found our way to the town
major. Here my letter continues :
" I was told an orderly was coming in the evening
to conduct me to the trenches, to my battahon !
Suddenly, however, we were told to go off — seven of
12 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
us in the same division — to our brigades in a motor-
lorry. So we are packed off. I said good-bye to
Crowley and Terry. This was about 7 p.m. We
went rattling along till within a short distance of
our front trenches. There was a lot of cannonading
going on around and behind us, and star-shells
bursting continuously, with Crystal-Palace-firework
pops ; we could hear rifles cracking too. At length
we got to where the lorry could go no further, and
we halted for a long time at a place where the houses
were all ruins and the roofs like spiders '-webs, with
the white glare of the shells silhouetting them
against the sky. The houses had been shelled
yesterday, but last night no shells were coming our
way at all. My feehngs were exactly like they are
in a storm — the nearer and bigger the flashes and
bangs the more I hoped the next would be really big
and really near." Of course, all this cannonade was
our artillery ; at the time we were quite muddled up
as to what it all was ! The snarling bangs were the
i8-pounders quite close to us, about one thousand
yards behind our front line ; the cracking bullets
were spent bullets, though it sounded to us as if they
were from a trench about twenty yards in front of
us ! Nothing is more confusing at first than the
different sounds of the different guns. I think
several of us would have been ready to say we had
been under shell-fire that night ! The " star-shells "
should be more accurately described as " flares '*
or " rockets." But to continue my letter :
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 13
" Well, the next few hours were a strange mixture
of sensations. We could nowhere find our brigades,
and after ten hours in the lorry we landed here at a
place sixteen miles back from the firing line ; here
our division had been located by a signaller, whom
we had consulted when wc stopped by the cross-
roads ! We were left by the lorry at 5.0 a.m. at a
field ambulance station ' close to H.Q.,' where we
slept wearily till 8.0, to awake and find ourselves
miles from our division,which is really, I believe, quite
near where we had been in the firing-Hne ! Now we
are sitting in a big old chateau awaiting a telephone-
message ; we are in a dining-room, walls peeUng,
and arm-chairs reduced to legless deformities ! It
is a jolly day : sun, and the smell of autumn." I
shall not forget that long ride. I was at the back,
and could see out ; innumerable villages we passed ;
innumerable mistakes we made ; innumerable stops,
innumerable enquiries ! But always there was the
throbbing engine while we halted, and the bump
and rattle as we plunged through the night. Eight
officers and seven vaUses, I think we were ; one or
two were reduced to grumbhng ; several were
asleep ; a few, like myself, were awake, but all
absolutely tired out. It was too uncomfortable to
rest, cramped up among bulky valises and all sorts
of sprawling limbs ! Once, at about four o'clock, we
halted at a house with a light in the window, and
found a miner just going off to work. An old woman
brewed some very black coffee, and we hungrily
14 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
devoured bits of bread and butter, coffee, and
cognac ; while the old woman, fat and smiling,
gabbled incessantly at us ! A strange weird picture
we must have made, some of us in kilts and bonnets,
standing half -awake in the flickering candle-light.
We were at the Chateau all the morning. " The
R.A.M.C. fellows were very decent to us ; gave us
breakfast (eggs, bread and butter, and tinned jam)
and also lunch (bully-beef, cheese, bread and butter,
and beer). These were eaten off the dining-room
table in style. I explored the Chateau during the
morning ; just a big ordinary empty house inside ;
outside, it is white plaster, with steep slate roofs,
and a few ornamental turrets. The garden is mostly
taken up with lines of picketed horses ; outside the
orchards and enclosures the country is bare and fiat ;
it is a mining district, and pyramids of slag stand up
all over the plain."
I cannot do better than continue quoting from
these first letters of mine ; of course, I did not
mention places by name :
" Well, at 2.0 p.m. the same old lorry and corporal
turned up and took us back to B6thune. I gather
he got considerable ' strafing ' for last night's per-
formance, although I think he was not given clear
enough instructions. Then, with seven other officers,
we were sent off again in dayhght, and dropped by
twos and threes at our various Brigade Head-
quarters. Our " Brigade H.Q." was in one of the
few houses left standing. Here I reported, and was
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 16
told that an orderly would take me to my battalion
transport. In half an hour the orderly arrived on a
bicycle, and by 6.0 p.m. I was only half a mile from
our transport. We were waUving along, when sud-
denly there was a scream like a rocket, followed by a
big bang, and the sound of splinters falling all about.
I expected to see people jump into ditches ; but
they stood calmly in the street, women and all, and
watched, while several shells (whizz-bangs, I
believe) " — No, dear innocence, High-Explosive
Shrapnel — " burst just near the road about a
hundred yards ahead. We were four miles back
from the firing-hne. It was just the ' evening hate,'
I expect. It didn't last long. Just near us was one
of our own batteries firing intermittently."
This was my first experience of being under fire.
I hadn't the least idea what to do. The textbooks,
I believe, said " Throw yourself on the ground." I
therefore looked at my orderly ; but he was ducking
behind his bicycle, which I am sure is not recom-
mended by any manual of miHtary training ! I
ducked behind nothing, copying him. This all took
place in the middle of the road. But when I saw
women opening the doors of their houses and stand-
ing calmly looking at the shells, ducking seemed out
of the question ; so we both stood and watched the
bursting shells. Then the salvo ceased, and I, think-
ing I must show some sort of a lead, suggested that
we should proceed. But my orderly, wiser by
experience, suggested waiting to see if another salvo
16 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
were forthcoming. After ten minutes, however, it
was clear that the Germans had finished, and we
resumed our journey in peace.
My letter continues : "At the transport I had a
very comfortable billet. The quartermaster and
two other new officers and myself had supper in an
upstairs room. The quartermaster seemed very
pessimistic, and told us a lot about our losses. We
turned in at ten o'clock, and I slept well. It was
' very quiet ' ; that is to say, only intermittent
bangs such as have continued ever since the begin-
ning of the war, and will continue to the end there-
of!
" October 9th. This morning a cart took us at nine
o'clock to within about a mile of the firing-line,
putting us down at the corner of a street that has
been renamed ' H Street.' The country was
dead flat ; the houses everywhere in ruins, though
some were untouched and still inhabited. Thence
an orderly conducted us to H.Q., where we reported
to the Adjutant and the CO. (who is quite young
by the way) ; they were in the ground-floor room
of a house, to which we came all the way from
H Street along a communication trench about
seven feet deep. These trenches were originally dug
by the French, I believe. I was told I was posted to
' D ' Company, so another orderly took me back
practically to H Street, which must be six or
seven hundred yards behind the firing-line. ' D '
is in reserve ; I am attached to it for the present.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 17
There are two other officers in it, Davidson and
Symons. Both have only just joined."
So at last I was fairly lodged in my battalion. I
had been directed, dumped, shaken, and carried,
in a kindly, yet to me most amazingly haphazard,
way to my destination, and there I found myself
quite unexpected, but immediately attached some-
where until I should sort myself out a httle and find
my feet. I had a servant called Smith, In the after-
noon I went with Davidson to supervise a working
party, which was engaged in paving a communica-
tion trench with tiles from the neighbouring houses.
In the evening I set to and wrote letters. I will close
this chapter with yet one more quotation :
" Now I am in the ground-room of one of the few
standing houses in H Street. Next door is a
big ' Ecole des filles,' which I am quite surprised to
find empty ! Really the way the people go about
their work here is amazing. Still, I suppose to carry
on a girls' school half a mile from the Boche is just
beyond the capacity of even their indifference !
I've already got quite used to the noise. There are
two guns just about forty yards away, that keep on
firing with a terrific bang ! I can see the flashes just
behind me. I think the noise would worry you,
if you heard these blaring bangs at the end of the
back garden, which is just about the distance this
battery is from me ! We are messing here in this
room ; half a table has been propped up, and three
chairs discovered and patched up for us. All the
18 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
windows facing the enemy have been blocked up
with sand-bags. I sleep here to-night. If the house
is shelled, I shall flee to the dug-out twenty yards
away. Orders have not yet come, but I believe we
go back to billets to-morrow.
A free issue of ' Glory Boys ' cigarettes has just
arrived : two packets for each officer and man.
Please don't forget to send my Sam Browne belt."
CHAPTER II
CUINCHY AJ^D GIVENCHY
THROUGHOUT October and November our
battaUon was in the firing-line. This meant
that we spent life in an everlasting alterna-
tion between the trenches and our billets behind,
just far enough behind, that is, to be out of the
range of the light artillery ; always, though, liable
to be called suddenly into the firing-line, and never
out of the atmosphere of the trenches. Always
before us was dangled a promised " rest," and
always it was being postponed. Rumours were
spread, dissected, laughed at, and eventually
treated with bored incredulity. The battalion had
had no rest, I believe, since May. Men, and espe-
cially N.C.O.'s, who had been out since October,
1914, were tired out in body and spirit.
With the officers and certain new drafts of men,
it was different. We came out enthusiastic and
keen. On the whole, I thoroughly enjoyed those
first two months. I am surprised now to see how
much detail I wrote in my letters home. Every-
thing was fresh, everything new and interesting.
And things were on the whole very quiet. We had
a few casualities, but underwent no serious bom-
19
20 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
bardment. And, most important to us, of course,
we had no casualties among the officers.
Givenchy and Cuinchy are two small villages,
north and south, respectively, of the La Bassee
Canal, which runs almost due east and west between
La Bassee and Bethune. Givenchy stands on a
slight rise in the flattest of flat countries. A church
tower of red brick must have been the most notice-
able feature as one walked in pre-war days from
the suburbs of Bethune along the La Bassee road.
Cuinchy is a village straggling along a road. Both
are as completely reduced to ruins as villages can
be, the firing-line running just east of them. Between
them flows the great sluggish canal.
During an afternoon in Bethune one could do all
the shopping one required, and get a hair-cut and
shampoo as well. Expensive cocktails were obtain-
able at the local bar ; there was also a famous tea-
shop. We were billeted in one of the small villages
around. Sometimes we only stayed one night at
a billet : there was always change, always move-
ment. Sometimes I got a bed ; often I did not ; but
a vaHse is comfortable enough, when once its tricks
are mastered. Anyhow it is " billets " and not
" trenches," that is the point ; a continuous night's
rest in pyjamas, the faciUties of a bath, very often
a free afternoon and evening, and no equipment and
revolver to carry night and day ! It was in billets
the following letters were written, which are really
the best description of my life at this period.
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY
21
" 19th October, 1915. Our battalion went into
the trenches on the 14th and came out on the 17th.
Our company, ' B,' was in support. The front Hne
was about 300 yards ahead, and we held the second
line, everything prepared to meet an attack in case
the enemy broke through the first Une. Half-
way between our first and second lines was a kind
of redoubt, to be held at all costs. Here you are :
'T
^-^VO^T TRENCH
The arrows indicate the direction in which the fire-trenches point.
The line here forms a big salient, so that we often
used to get spent bullets dropping into the redoubt,
from right behind, it seemed. Here, another
drawing will show what I mean :
22 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
The dotted line is the German front trench. If
the enemy A fires at the EngHsh B, the bullet
will go on and fall at about C, who is facing in the
direction of the arrow, in the support line. So C
has to look out for enfilading spent bullets.
For three days and nights I was in command of
this redoubt, isolated, and ready with stores, am-
munition, water, barbed wire and pickets, bombs,
and tools, to hold out a little siege for several days
if necessary. I used to leave it to get meals at
Company H.Q. in the support Une ; otherwise,
I had always to be there, ready for instant action.
No one used to get more than two or three hours'
consecutive sleep, and I could never take off boots,
equipment, or revolver.
Here is a typical scene in the redoubt.
Scene. A dug-out, 6' X 4' X 4' : smell, earthy.
Time. 2.30 a.m.
I awake and listen. Deathly stillness.
A voice. ' What's the time, kid ? '
Another voice. ' Dunno. About 2 o'clock, I
reckon.'
' Past that.'
Long silence.
' Rum job, this, ain't it, kid ? '
' Why ? '
' Well, I reckon if the Huns were coming
over, we'd know it long afore they got 'ere. I
reckon we'd 'ear the boys in front firing.'
Long pause.
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 23
' I dunno. 'Spose there's some sense in it, else
we wouldn't be 'ere.'
Silence.
' cold on this fire step. Guess it's time
they reHeved us.'
Long silence.
' Don't them flares look funny in the mist ? '
' Yus, I guess old Fritz uses some of them every
night. Hullo, there they go again. 'Ear that
machine-gun ? '
Long pause, during which machine-guns pop, and
snipers snipe merrily, and flares light up the sky.
Trench-mortars begin behind us ' whizz-sh-sh-sh-
h-h ' — silence — ' thud.' Then the Germans reply,
sending two or three over which thud harmlessly
behind. The invisible sentries have now become
clearly visible to me as I look out of my dug-out.
Two of them are about ten j'-ards apart standing
on the fire-platform. Theirs is the above dialogue.
With a sudden thud, a trench-mortar shell drops
fifteen yards behind us.
' Hullo, Fritz is getting the wind up.'
' Getting the wind up ' is slang for getting
nervous : this stoHd comment from a sentry is
typical of the attitude adopted towards ' Fritz '
(the German) when he starts shelling or finding.
He is supposed to be a bit jumpy ! It seems
hard to realise that Fritz is really trying to kill
these sentries : the whole thing seems a weird,
strange play.
24 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
I make an effort, and crawl out of the dug-out.
The ' strafing ' has died down. Only occasional
flares climb up from the German lines, and ' pop,'
* pop ' in the morning mist. I go round the sentries,
standing up by them and looking over the parapet.
It is cold and raw, and the sentries are looking for-
ward to the next relief. Ah ! there is the corporal
on trench duty coming. I can hear him routing
out the snoring relief.
' Ping-g-g-g ' goes a stray bullet singing by — a
ricochet by its sound.
' A near one, sir.'
' Yes, Evans. Safer in the front line.'
' I guess it is, sir.'
Then, the sentries changed, I turn back again
to my dug-out. Sleeping with revolvers and
equipment requires some care of position.
' Half-past four, sir,' comes after a pause and
some sleep.
Out I get, and everybody ' stands to ' arms
for an hour, each man taking up the position
allotted to him along the fire-platform. Gradually
it gets light. Some brick-stacks grow out of the
mist in front, and ruined cottages loom up in the
rear, and what was a church. The fire-platform
being here pretty high, one can look back over the
parados over bare flat country, cut up by trenches
and run to waste terribly. ' Parados,' by the way,
is the name given to the back of a trench ; here is
a drawing in section :
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 25
A. Bottom of trench. C. Parapet.
B. Fire-step. D. Paiados.
At 5.30 ' Stand down and clean rifles ' is the order
given, and the cleaning commences — a process as
oft-repeated as ' washing up ' in civilised lands, and
as monotonous and unsatisfactory, for a few hours
later the rifles are a bit rusty and muddy again, and
need another inspection.
7.30. ' Tell Sergeant Summers I'm going down
to Company Headquarters.'
' Very good, sir.' Then I take a long mazy
journey down the communication trench, which is
six feet deep at least, and mostly paved with bricks
from a neighbouring brick-field. There are an
amazing lot of mice about the trenches, and they
fall in and can't get out. Most of them get squashed.
Frogs too, which make a green and worse mess than
the mice. Our CO. always stops and throws a frog
out if he meets one. Tommy, needless to say, is
not so sentimental. These trenches have been
built a long time, and grass-stalks, dried scabious,
and plantain-stalks grow over the edges, which
must make them very invisible from above. ' H
Street,' ' L Lane,' ' C Road,' ' P Lane '
26 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
are traversed, and so into S Street,' where, in
the cellar of what was once a house, are two hungry
officers already started on bacon and eggs, coffee
(with condensed milk), and bread and tinned jam.
We are lucky with three chairs and a table, A
newspaper makes an admirable tablecloth, and a
bottle a good candlestick, and there is room in a
cellar to stand up. Breakfast done, a shave is
manipulated, Meadows, my servant, getting ready
my tackle and producing a mug of hot water.
9.30 finds me back in the redoubt and starting
a ' working party ' on repairing a communication
trench and generally improving the trenches. Work-
ing parties are unpopular ; Tommy does not believe
in improving trenches he may never see again. And
so the day goes on. Sentries change and take their
place, sitting gazing into a scrap of mirror. Ration
parties come up with dixies carried on wooden
pickets, and the pioneer generally cleans up,
sprinkling chloride of lime about in white showers,
which seems as plentiful as the sand of the sea-
shore, and the odour of which clings to the trenches,
as the smell of seaweed does to the beach.
The redoubt was in the Cuinchy trenches, and that
old cellar was really a delightful headquarters. The
first time we were in it we found a cat there ; on
the second occasion the same cat appeared with
three lusty kittens ! These used to keep the place
clear of rats and get sat on every half-hour or so.
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 27
I soon learned to get used to smoke ; on one occa-
sion the smoke from our brazier became so thick
that Gray, the cook, threatened to resign. For all
the smoke gathers at the top of a dug-out and seems
impossibly suffocating to anyone first entering ;
yet it is often practically clear two or three feet from
the ground, so that when lying or sitting one does
not notice the smoke at all ; but a new-comer gets
his eyes so stung that it seems impossible that any-
one can live in the dug-out at all ! (Gray, by the
way, was not allowed to resign.)"
Here follows a letter describing the front trenches
at Givenchy :
" 7th November. On the 29th we marched off
at 9.0 and halted at 11. 0 for dinner. Luckily it
was fine, and the piled arms, the steaming dixies,
and the groups of men sitting about eating and
smoking formed a pleasant sight. Our grub was
put by mistake on the mess-cart which went straight
on to the trenches ! Edwards, however, our Com-
pany mess-president, came up to the scratch with
bread, butter, and eggs. Tea was easily procured
from the cookers. Then off we went to our H.Q.
There we got down into the communication trench,
and in single file were taken by guides into our
part of the trenches : these guides were sent by
the battalion we were relieving. I told you that all
the trenches have names (which are painted on
boards hung up at the trench corners). The first
28 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
thing done was to post sentries along our company
front : until this was done the outgoing battalion
could not ' out-go.' Each man has his firing position
allotted to him, and he always occupies it at ' stand
to ' and ' stand down.' We were three days and
three nights in the trenches. Each officer was on
duty for eight hours, during which he was responsible
for a sector of firing-line and must be actually in the
front trench. My watch was 12 to 4, a.m. and p.m.
Work that out with ' stand to ' in the morning and
also in the evening and you will see that consecu-
tive sleep is not easy ! On paper 6-12 (midnight)
looks good ; but then, remember, dinner at 7.0 or
7.30 according to the fire, while you may have to
turn out any time if you are being shelled at all.
For instance, one night I was just turning in early
at 7.0, when a mine went up on our right, and
shelling and general ' strafing ' kept me out till
9.30, after which I couldn't sleep ! So at midnight
I was tired when I started my four hours, turned
in at 4.0, out again for ' stand to,' 8.0 breakfast,
9.0 rifle inspection, and so it goes on ! That is
why you can appreciate billets, and bed from 9.0
to 7.0 if you want it.
Imagine a cold November night — with a ground
fog. What bliss to be roused from a snug dug-out
at midnight, and patrol the Company's line for four
interminable hours. It is deathly quiet. Has the
war stopped ? I stand up on the fire-step beside
the sentry and try to see through the fog. ' Pip-
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 29
pip-pip-pip-pip ' goes a machine-gun. So the war's
still on.
' Cold ? ' I ask a sentry. ' Only me feet, sir.'
' Why don't you stamp your feet, then ? ' This
being equivalent to an order. Tommy stamps
feebly a few times until made to do so energetically.
Unless you make him stamp, he will not stamp ;
would infinitely prefer to let his feet get cold as ice.
Of course, when you have gone into the next bay,
he immediately stops. Still, that is Tommy.
I gaze across into No Man's Land. I can just
see our wire, and in front a collection of old tins —
bully tins, jam tins, butter tins — paper, old bits of
equipment. Other regiments always leave places
so untidy. You clean up, but when you come into
trenches you find the other fellows have left things
about. You work hard repairing the trenches :
the reheving regiment, you find on your return,
has done ' damn all,' which is military slang for
'nothing.' And all other regiments, it seems, have
the same complaint.
' Swish.' A German flare rocket hghts up every-
thing. You see our trenches all along. Everything
is as clear as day. You feel as conspicuous as a
cromlech on a hill. But the enemy can't see you,
fog or no fog, if you only keep still. The light has
fallen on the parapet this time, and lies sizzling on
the sand-bags. A flicker, and it is gone ; and in the
fog you see black blobs, the size and shape of the
dazzling light you've just been staring at.
30 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
' Crack — plop.' * Crack — plop.' A couple of
bullets bury themselves in the sand-bags, or else
with a long-drawn ' ping ' go singing over the
top. Why the sentries never get hit seems extra-
ordinary. I suppose a mathematician would by
combination and permutation tell you the chances
against bullets aimed ' at a venture ' hitting sentries
exposing one-fourth of their persons at a given
elevation at so many paces interval. Personally I
won't try, as my whole object is to keep awake till
four o'clock. And then I shall be too sleepy. Only
remember, it is night and the sentries are invisible.
' Tap — tap — tap.' ' There's a wiring party out,
sir. I've heard 'em these last five minutes.' Un-
doubtedly there are a few men out in No Man's
Land, repairing their wire. I tell the sentries near
to look out and be ready to fire, and then I send off
a ' Very ' flare, fired by a thick cartridge from a
thick-barrelled brass pistol. It makes a good row,
and has a fair kick, so it is best to rest the butt
on the parapet and hold it at arm's length. Even
so it leaves your ears singing for hours. The first
shot was a failure — only a miserable rocket tail which
failed to burst. The second was a magnificent shot.
It burst beautifully, and fell right behind the party,
two Germans, and silhouetted them, falling and
burning still incandescent on the ground behind.
A volley of fire followed from our waiting sentries.
I could not see if the party were hit ; most of the
shots were fired after the light had died out. Any-
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 31
how, the working party stopped. The two figures
stood quite motionless while the flare burned.
The Gemians opposite us were very lively. One
could often hear them whistling, and one night they
were shouting to one another hke anything. They
were Saxons, who are always at that game. No
one knows exactly what it means. It was quite
cold, almost frosty, and the sound came across
the 100 yards or so of No Man's Land with a strange
clearness in the night air. The voices seemed un-
naturally near, like voices on the water heard from
a chff. ' Tommee — Tommee. Allemands bon —
Engleesh bon.' ' We hate ze Kronpiinz.' (I can
hear now the nasal twang with which the ' Kron '
was emphasised.) ' D the Kaiser.' ' Deutsch-
land unter Alles.' I could hear these shouts most
distinctly : the same sentences were repeated again
and again. They shouted to one another from one
part of the hne to another, generally preceding
each sentence by ' Kamerad.' Often you heard
loud hearty laughter. As ' Comic Cuts ' (the name
given to the daily Intelligence Reports) sagely
remarked, ' Either this means that there is a spirit
of dissatisfaction among the Saxons, or it is a ruse
to try and catch us unawares, or it is mere foolery.'
Wisdom in high places !
Really it was intensely interesting. ' Come
over,' shouted Tommy. ' We — are — not — coming —
over,' came back. Loud clapping and laughter
followed remarks like ' We hate ze Kronphnz.'
82 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
Then they would yodel and sing like anything.
Tommy replied with ' Tipperary.' They sang,
' God save the King,' or rather their German
equivalent of it, to the familiar tune. Then, ' Abide
with us ' rose into the night air and starlight.
This went on for an hour and a half ; though almost
any night you can hear them shout something,
and give a yodel —
m
w
~^~
r=-—^=r.
It is the strangest thing I have ever experienced.
The authorities now try and stop our fellows answer-
ing. The entente of last Christmas is not to be re-
peated ! One of the officers in our battalion has
shown me several German signatures on his pay-
book (he was in the ranks then), given in friendly
exchange in the middle of No Man's Land last
Christmas Day.
I have had my baptism of mud now. It tires me
to think of it, and I have not the effort to write
fully about it ! The second time we were in these
trenches the mud was two feet deep. Even our
Company Headquarters, a cellar, was covered with
mud and slime. Paradoses and communication
trenches had fallen in, and the going was terrible.
The sticky mud yoicked one's boots off nearly, and
it felt as if one's foot would be broken in extricating
it. We all wore gum-boots, of blue-black rubber.
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY
88
that come right up to the waist Uke fishermen's
waders. But the mud is everywhere, and we get
our arms all plastered with it as we Uterally " reel
to and fro " along the trench, every now and again
steadying ourselves against slimy sand-bags. One
or two men actually got stuck, and had to be helped
out with spades ; one fellow lost heart and left one
of his gum-boots stuck in the mud, and turned up
in my platoon in a stockinged foot, of course plas-
tered thick with clay ! We worked day and night.
Gradually the problem is being tackled. Trench-
boards, or ' mats/ are the best, like this :
They are put along the bottom of the trench, the
long ' runners ' resting on bricks taken from ruined
houses, so as to raise the board and allow drainage
underneath. If possible, a deep sump-pit is dug
under the centre of the board. (The shaded part
represents the sump-pit : the dotted lines are the
sides of the trench ; the whole drawing in plan.)"
Weariness. Mud. The next experience (not
mentioned in my letter) was Death. On our im-
mediate right was " C " Company. Here our
3
34 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
trench runs out like this y\_, more or less,
and the opposite trenches are very close together.
Consequently it is a great place for " mining
activity." One evening we put up a mine ;
the next afternoon the Germans put up a counter-
mine, and accompanied it with a hail of trench-
mortars. I was on trench duty at the time,
and had ample opportunity of observing the genus
trench-mortar and its habits. One can see them
approaching some time before they actually fall,
as they come from a great height (in military terms,
" with a steep trajectory "), and one can see them
revolving as they topple down. Then they fall
with a ^/^n^^.and black smoke comes up and mud
spatters all about. Most of them were falling in
our second line and support trenches. I was patrol-
ling up and down our front trench. We were
" standing to " after the mine, and for half an hour
it was rather a " hot shop." I was delighted to
find that I rather enjoyed it : seeing one or two of
the new draft with the " wind up " a bit steadied
me at once. I have hardly ever since felt the
slightest nervousness under fire. It is mainly
temperament. Our company had four casualties :
one in the front trench, the three others in the
platoon in support. " C " Company suffered more
heavily. At 6.0 Edwards came on duty, and I was
able to go in quest of two bombers who were said
to be wounded. Getting near the place I came on
a man standing half-dazed in the trench. " Oh,
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 35
sirrh," he cried, in the burring speech of a true
Welshman. " A terench-mohrterh hass fall-en
ericht in-ter me duck-out." For the moment I felt
like laughing at the man's curious speech and look,
but I saw that he was greatly scared : and no
wonder. A trench mortar had dropped right into the
mouth of his dug-out, and had half buried two of his
comrades. We were soon engaged in extricating them.
Both had bad head wounds, and how he escaped is a
miracle. I helped carry the two men out and over
the debris of flattened trenches to Company Head-
quarters. So, for the first time I looked upon two
dying men, and some of their blood was on my
clothes. One died in half an hour — the other early
next morning. It was really not my job to assist :
the stretcher-bearers were better at it than I, yet
in this first little bit of " strafe " I was carried away
by my instinct, whereas later I should have been
attending to the living members of my platoon, and
the defence of my sector. I left the company
sergeant-major in difficulties as to whether Randall,
the man who had so miraculously escaped, and
who was temporarily dazed, should be returned
as " sick " or " wounded."
Another death that came into my close experience
was that of a lance-corporal in my platoon. I had
only spoken to him a quarter of an hour before,
and on returning found him lying dead on the fire-
platform. He had been killed instantaneously by
a rifle grenade. I lifted the waterproof sheet and
Se NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
looked at him. I remember that I was moved,
but there was nothing repulsive about his recum-
bent figure. I think the novelty and interest of
these first casualties made them quite easy to bear.
I was so busy noticing details : the silence that
reigned for a few hours in my platoon ; the details
of removing the bodies, the collecting of kit, etc.
These things at first blunted my perception of the
vileness of the tragedy ; nor did I feel the cruelty
of war as I did later.
Weariness. Mud. Death. So it was with great
joy that we would return to billets, to get dry and
clean, to eat, sleep, and write letters ; to drill, and
carry out inspections. Company drill, bayonet-
fighting, gas-helmet drill, musketry, and lectures
were usually confined to the morning and early
afternoon. We thought that we had rather an
overdose of lecturing from our medical officer (the
M.O.) on sanitation and the care of the feet, " Trench
feet," one lecture always began, " is that state pro-
duced by excessive cold or long standing in water
or liquid mud." We soon got to know too much,
we felt, about the use of whale-oil and anti-frostbite
grease, the changing of socks and the rubbing and
stamping of feet. We did get rather " fed up "
with it ; yet I believe we had only one case of
trench feet in our battalion throughout the winter ;
so perhaps it was worth our discomfort of attending
so many lectures ! Our C.O.'s lectures on trench
warfare were always worth hearing : he was so
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 87
tremendously keen and such a perfect and whole-
hearted soldier.
A chapter might be written on billet-Hfe. Here
are a few more extracts from letters :
" Oct. 13th. All day long this little inn has
shaken from top to bottom : there is one battery
about a hundred yards away that makes the whole
house rattle Uke the inside of a motor-bus. The
Germans might any time try and locate the battery,
and a shell would reduce the house to ruins. Yet
the old woman here declares she will not leave the
house as long as she lives !
It is a strange place, this belt of land behind the
firing-Une. The men are out of the trenches for
three days, and it is their duty, after perhaps a
running parade before breakfast and two or three
hours' drill and inspection in the morning, to rest
for the remainder of the day. In the morning you
will see all the evolutions of company drill carried
out in a small meadow behind a strip of woodland ;
in the next field an old man and woman are uncon-
cernedly hoeing a cabbage-patch ; then behind here
are a battalion's transport lines, with rows of horses
picketed. Along the road an A.S.C. convoy is
passing, each lorry at regulation distance from the
next. In the afternoon you will see groups of
Tommies doing nothing most religiously, smoking
cigarettes, writing letters home. From six to eight
the estaminets are open, and everyone flocks to
them to get bad beer. They are also open an hour
38 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
at midday, and then the orderly officer, accom-
panied by the provost-sergeant, produces an electric
silence with ' Any complaints ? ' It does not pay
an esta^ninet-keeper to dilute his beer too much,
or else he will lose his licence.
I often wonder if these peasants think much.
Think they must have done at the beginning, when
their men were hastily called up. But now, after
fifteen months of war ? It is the children, chiefly,
who are interested in the aeroplanes, shining hke
eagles silver-white against the blue sky ; or in the
boom from the battery across the street. But for
their mothers and grandparents these things have
settled into their lives ; they are all one with the
canal and the poplar trees. If a squad starts drilling
on their lettuces, they are tremendously alert ; but
as for these other things, they are not interested,
only unutterably tired of them. And after awhile
you adopt the same attitude. The noise of the guns
is boring and you hardly look up at an aeroplane,
unless it is shrapnelled by the ' Archies ' (anti-air-
craft guns) ; then it is worth watching the pin-prick
flashes dotting the sky all round it, leaving little
white curls of smoke floating in the blue."
That billet was close to the firing-line. Here is
a letter from a village, eight miles back :
" 2oth Oct., 1915. We came out here on Mon-
day. The whole division marched out together.
It was really an impressive sight, over a mile of
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 39
troops on the march. Perfect order, perfect arrange-
ment. Where the road bent you could often see
the column for a mile in front, a great snake curHng
along the right side of the road. Occasionally an
adjutant would break out of the line to trot back
and correct some straggHng ; or a CO. would emerge
for a gallop over the adjacent ploughland.
Our company is billeted in a big prosperous farm.
The men are in a roomy barn and look very comfort-
able. We are in a big room, on the right as you
enter the front door of the farm : on a tiled floor
stands a round table with an oilcloth cover, originally
of a bright red pattern, but now subdued by con-
stant scrubbings to the palest pink with occasional
scarlet dottings. There are big tall windows, a
wardrobe and sideboard, a big chimney-place fitted
with a coke stove, and on the walls hang three very
dirty old prints. The only war touch (beside our
scattered possessions) is a picture from a French
Illustrated of L'Assaut de Vermelles. Outside is a
yard animated by cows, turkeys, geese, chicken,
and ducks : also a donkey and a peacock, not to
mention the usual dogs and cats. At 5 a.m. I am
awakened by an amazing chorus.
The ' patron ' is a strong, competent man, with
many fine buxom daughters, who do the farm work
with great capacity and energy. Henriette with a
pitchfork is strength and grace in action. Tommy
is much in awe of her. She hustles the pigs relent-
lessly. The sons are at the war. Etienne and Mar-
40 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
celle, aged ten and eight respectively, complete the
family ; with Madame, of course, who makes in-
imitable coffee ; and various grandparents who
appear in white caps and cook and bake all day.
I have just ' paid out ' — all in five and twenty-
franc notes. ' In the field ' every man has his own
pay book which the officer must sign, while the
company quartermaster-sergeant sees that his ac-
quittance roll is also signed by Tommy. We had
a small table and chair out in the yard, and in an
atmosphere of pigs and poultry I dealt out the blue-
and-white oblongs which have already in many
cases been converted into bread. For that is where
most of the pay money goes, there and in the
estaminets. The bread ration is always small, the
biscuit ration overflowing. Bully beef, by the way,
is simply ordinary corned beef. I watched cooking
operations yesterday, and saw some fifty tins cut
in half with an axe, clean hewn asunder, and the
meat deftly hoicked with a fork into the field-
kitchen, or ' cooker,' which is a range and boiler
on wheels. This was converted into a big stew, and
served out into dixies (camp kettles) and so to the
men's canteens.
This afternoon our company practised an attack
over open country. I was surprised to find the men
so well trained. I had imagined that prolonged
trench-warfare would have made them stale. The
country is very flat. There are no hedges. The
only un-Enghsh characteristics are the poplar rows,
CUINCHY AND GIVENCHY 41
the dried beans tied round poles like mother-gamp
umbrellas, and the wayside chapels and crucifixes.
Yesterday afternoon Edwards and I got in a little
revolver practice just near ; and afterwards we
had an energetic game of hockey, with sticks and
an empty cartridge-case."
Altogether, billet life was very enjoyable. On
November ist Captain Dixon joined our battaUon
and took over " B " Company. For over four
months I worked under the most good-natured and
popular officer in the battaHon. We were always
in good spirits while he was with us. "I can't
think why it is," he used to say, "I'm not at all a
jolly person, yet you fellows are always laughing ;
and in my old regiment it was always the same ! "
He was a fearful pessimist, but a fine soldier. His
delight used to be to get a good fire blazing in
billets, sit in front of it with a novel, and then
deliver a tirade against the discomfort of war !
The great occasion used to be when the arch-
pessimist, our quartermaster, was invited to dinner.
Then Edwards, the Mess president, would produce
endless courses, and the two pessimists would warm
to a deUghtful duologue on the fatuity of the Staff,
the Army, and the Government.
" By Jove, we are the biggest fools on this
earth ! " Dixon would say at last.
" We're fools enough to be led by fools," Jim
Potter would reply.
And somehow we were all more cheerful than ever!
CHAPTER III
WORKING-PARTIES
FALL in the brick-party."
The six privates awoke from a state of
inert dreaming, or lolHng against the barn
that flanked the gateway of battahon headquarters,
to stand in two rows of three and await orders. At
last the A.S.C. lorry had turned up, an hour late, and
while it turned round I despatched one of the
privates to our transport to get six sand-bags. By
the time he returned the lorry had performed its
about-wheel, and, all aboard, myself in front and
the six behind, we are off for C .
We pass through Bethune. As we approach
through the suburbs, we rattle past motor despatch
riders, A.S.C. lorries. Red Cross carts, columns of
transport horses being exercised, officers on horse-
back, officers in motor-cars, small unarmed fatigue
parties, battalions on the march ; then there are
carts carrying bricks, French postmen on bicycles,
French navvies in blue uniforms repairing the road,
innumerable peasant traps, coal waggons, women
with baskets, and children of course everywhere.
" Business as usual " — yet, but for a line of men
not so many miles away the place would be a
42
WORKING-PARTIES 48
desolate ruin like the towns and villages that chance
has doomed to be in the firing-hne.
So I morahse. Not so the Tommies, sprawHng
behind, inside the lorry, and caring not a jot for
anything save that they are on a " cushy " or soft
job, as the rest of the battalion are doing four hours'
digging under R.E. supervision. A good thing to be
a Tommy, to be told to fall in here or there, and not
to know whether it is for a bayonet-charge, or a job
of carting earth !
" Bang — Bang-bang." We are nearing the firing-
line, having left Bethune, where mihtary police
stand at every corner directing the traffic with flags,
one road "up," another " down " : we are once
more within the noisy but invisible chain of batteries.
" Lorries 6 miles per hour." The shell-holes in the
road, roughly filled with stones, would make quicker
going impossible anyhow. We are entering C ,
and I keep an eagle eye open for ruined houses, and
soon stop by a house with two walls and half a roof.
Out come the six Tommies and proceed to fill a sand-
bag each with bricks and empty it into the lorry.
The supply is inexhaustible, and in half an hour the
A.S.C. corporal refuses to take more, declaring we
have the regulation three-ton load, so I stop work
and prepare to depart.
The corporal, however, has heard of a sister-
lorry near by, which has unfortunately shpped into
a ditch and, so to speak, sprained its ankle. Though
extraordinarily unromantic in appearance, the
44 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
corporal shows himself imbued with a spirit of
knight errantry, and, having obtained my per-
mission to rescue the fair damsel, sets off for what
he declares cannot take more than ten minutes.
As I thought the process would take probably more
Uke twenty minutes, I let the men repair to a house
on the opposite side of the road, where was a rather
more undamaged piece of roof than usual (it was now
raining), and myself explored the place I happened
to be in.
Occasionally, at home one comes across a deserted
cottage in the country ; a most desolate spirit per-
vades the place. Imagine, then, what it is hke in
these villages half a mile or a mile behind what has
been the firing-hne for now twelve months. A few
steps off the main road brought me into what had
formerly been a small garden belonging to a farm.
There had been a red-brick wall all along the north
side with fruit trees trained along it. Now, the wall
was mostly a rubble-heap, and the fruit trees dead.
One sickly pear tree struggled to exist in a crumpled
sort of heap, but its wilted leaves only added to the
desolation of the scene. An iron gate, between red
brick pillars, was still standing, strangely enough ;
but the little lawn was run to waste, and had a
crater in the middle of it about five feet across,
inside of which was some disintegrating animal,
also empty tins, and other refuse. Trees were
broken, weeds were everywhere. I tried to re-
construct the place in my imagination, but it was a
WORKING-PARTIES 45
chaotic tangle. I came across a few belated rasp-
berries, and picked one or two ; they were taste-
less and watery. Rubbish and broken glass were
strewn everywhere. It was a dreary sight in the
grey rain ; the only sign of life a few chattering
blue-tits.
The house was an utter ruin, only a ground-room
wall left standing ; some of the outhouses had not
suffered so much, but all the roofs were gone. I
saw a rusty mangle staring forlornly out of a heap
of debris ; and a manger and hayrack showed what
had been a stable. The pond was just near, too, and
gradually I could piece together the various elements
of the farm. Who the owners were I vaguely
wondered ; perhaps they will return after the war ;
but I doubt if they could make much of the old
ruins. These villages will most likely remain a
bhghted area for years, hke the villages reclaimed
by the jungle. Already the Virginia creeper and
woodbine are trying to cover the ugliness. . . .
The Tommies meanwhile had been smoking Gold
Flakes, and one or two had also been exploring ; one
had discovered a child's elementary botany book, and
was studying the illustrations when I came up. Our
combined view now was " Where is the lorry ? "
and this view held the field, with increasing curiosity,
annoyance, and vituperation, for one solid hour and
a half. It was dinner-time, and a common bond of
hunger held us, until at last in exasperation I
marched half the party in quest of our errant con-
46 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
veyance. I was thoroughly annoyed with the
gallant corporal. Three-quarters of a mile away I
found the two lorries. My Httle corporal had rescued
his lorn princess, but she, being a buxom wench, had
brought her rescuer into like predicament ! And so
we came up just in time to see the rescue of our lorry
from the treacherous ditch ! I felt I could not curse,
especially as the little corporal had winded himself
somehow in the stomach during the last bout. It
had been a feeble show ; yet there was the lorry,
and in it the bricks, on to which the fellows climbed
deliberately as men who recover a lost prize. And
so we arrived at our transport (the bricks were for a
horse-stand in a muddy yard) at half-past two ;
after which I dismissed the party to its belated
dinner.
The above incident hardly deserves a place in a
chapter headed " working-parties," being in almost
every respect different from any other I have ever
conducted. I think the " working-party " is realised
less than anything else in this war by those who
have not been at the front. It does not appeal to
the imagination. Yet it is essential to realise, if one
wants to know what this war is like, the amount of
sheer dogged labour performed by the infantry in
digging, draining, and improving trenches.
The " working-party " usually consists of seventy
to a hundred men from a company, with either one
or two officers. The Brigadier going round the
trenches finds a communication trench falling in.
WORKING-PARTIES 47
and about a foot of mud at the bottom. " Get a
working-party on to this at once," he says to his
Staff Captain. The Staff Captain consults one of
the R.E. officers, and a note is sent to the Adjutant
of one of the two battaUons in billets : " Your
battalion will provide a working party of . . .
officers . . . full ranks (sergeants and corporals)
and . . . other ranks to-morrow. Report to Lt.
. . ., R.E., at ... at 5.0 p.m. to-morrow for work
on . . . Trench, Tools will be provided." The
Staff Captain then dismisses the matter from his
head. The Adjutant then sends the same note to
one or more of the four company commanders, de-
taihng the number of men to be sent by the com-
panies specified by him. (He is scrupulously careful
to divide work equally between the companies, by
the way.) The company commander on receiving
the note curses volubly, declares it a " d — d shame
the hardest worked battahon in the brigade can't
be allowed a moment's rest, feels sure the men will
mutiny one of these days," etc., summons the
orderly, who is frowsting in the next room with the
officers' servants, and says, " Take this to the
sergeant-major," after scribbHng on the note
" Parade outside Company H.Q. 3.30 p.m.," and
adding, as the orderly departs, " Might tell the
quartermaster-sergeant I want to see him." Mean-
while the three subalterns are extraordinarily
engrossed in their various occupations, until the
company commander boldly states that it is
48 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" rotten luck, but he supposes as So-and-so took
the last, it is So-and-so's turn, isn't it ? " and details
the officers ; if they are new officers he tells them
the sergeants will know exactly what to do, and if
they are old hands he tells them nothing whatever.
The " quarter " (company quartermaster-sergeant)
then arrives, and is told the party will not be back,
probably, till lo.o p.m., and will he make sure,
please, that hot soup is ready for the men on return,
and also dry socks if it turns out wet ; he is then
given a drink, and the company commander's work
is finished.
Meanwhile the company sergeant-major has
received the orders from the orderly, and summons
unto him the orderly-sergeant, and from his
" roster," or roll, ticks off the men and N.C.O.'s to
be warned for the working party. This the orderly-
sergeant does by going round to the various barns
and personally reading out each man's name, and
on getting the answer, saying, " You're for working
party, 3.15 to-day." The exact nature of the
remarks when he is gone are beyond my province.
Only, as an officer taking the party, one knows that
at 3.25 p.m. the senior sergeant calls the two lines
of waiting " other ranks " to attention, and with a
slap on his rifle, announces " Working-party present,
Sir," as you stroll up. Working-parties are dressed
in " musketry order " usually — that is to say, with
equipment, but no packs ; rifles and ammunition,
of course, and waterproof sheets rolled and fastened
WORKING-PARTIES 49
to the webbing belt. The officer then tells the
sergeant to " stand them easy," while he asks one
or two questions, and looks once more at " orders "
which the senior sergeant has probably brought on
parade, and at 3.30, with a " Company- Shern !
Slo-o-ope hip ! Right-in-fours : form-fors ! Right !
By the right, Quick march ! " leads off his party,
giving " March at ease, march-easy ! " almost in one
breath as soon as he rounds the corner. Then there
is a hitching of rifles to the favourite position, and a
buzz of remarks and whistles and song behind,
while the sergeant edges up to the officer or the
officer edges back to the sergeant, according to their
degree of intimacy, and the working-party is on its
way.
One working-party I remember very well. We
were in billets at , and really tired out. It was
Nov. 6th, and on looking up my letters I find
our movements for the last week had been as
follows :
Oct. 29th. 9.0 a.m. Moved off from billets.
12.0 midday. Lunch.
3.0 p.m. Arrived in front trenches.
Oct. 30th. Front trenches.
Oct. 31st. Front trenches.
Nov. ist. Reheved at 3.0 p.m. (The Devons
were very late relieving us, owing to
bad rain and mud.)
5.30 p.m. Reached billets.
50 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
Nov. 2nd. Rain all day. Morning spent by men
in trying to clean up. Afternoon,
baths.
Nov, 3rd. 9.0 a.m. Started off for trenches
again. It had rained incessantly.
Mud terrible,
i.o p.m. Arrived in front trenches.
Nov. 4th. Front trenches. Rained all day.
Nov. 5th. 2.30 p.m. Relieved late again. Mud
colossal. Billets 5.0 p.m.
Nov. 6th. Morning. Cleaning up. Inspection by
CO.
Afternoon. Sudden and unexpected
Working-Party. 3.0 p.m. — ii.o
p.m. ! !
Yet I thoroughly enjoyed those eight hours, I
remember. There were, I suppose, about eighty
N.C.O.'s and men from " B " Company. I was in
charge, with one other officer. We halted at a place
whither the " cooker " had been previously des-
patched, and where the men had their tea. Luckily
it was fine. The men sat about on lumps of trench-
boards and coils of barbed wire, for the place was an
" R.E. Dump," where a large accumulation of R.E.
stores of all description was to be found. I apolo-
gised to the R.E. officer for keeping him a few
minutes while the men finished their tea ; he, how-
ever, a second-lieutenant, was in no hurry whatever,
WORKING-PARTIES 61
it seemed, and waited about a quarter of an hour
for us. Tlien I fell the men in, and they " drew
tools," so many men a pick, so many a shovel (the
usual proportion is one pick, two shovels), and we
splodged along through whitish clay of the stickiest
calibre in the gathering twihght. An R.E. corporal
and two R.E, privates had joined us mysteriously
by now, as well as the second-heutenant, and cross-
ing H Street we plunged down into a communi-
cation trench, and started the long mazy grope.
The R.E. corporal was guide. The trench was all
paved with trench-mats, but these were not "laid,"
only " shoved down " anyhow ; consequently they
wobbled, and one's boot slipped off the side into
squelch, rubbing the ankle. Continually came up
the message from behind, " Lost touch, Sir ! "
This involved a wait — one, two minutes — until the
" All-up " or " All-in " came up. (One hears it
coming in a hoarse whisper, and starts before it
actually arrives. Infinite patience is necessary.
R.E. officers are sometimes eager to go ahead ; but
once lose the last ten men at night in an unknown
trench, and it may take three hours to find them.)
The other officer was bringing up the rear.
At last we reached our destination, and the R.E.
officer and myself told off the men to work along the
trench. This particular work was clearing what is
known as a " berm," that is, the flat strip of ground
between the edge of the trench and the thrown-up
earth, each side of a C.T. (communication trench).
52 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
When a trench is first dug, the earth is thrown up
each side ; the recent rains were, however, causing
the trenches to crumble in everywhere, and the
weight of the thrown-up earth was especially the
cause of this. Consequently, if the earth were
cleared away a yard on each side of the trench, and
^r" Tmmt^ ^^''^ '^''°^" ''^
thrown further back, the trench would probably be
saved from falling in to any serious extent, and the
light labour of shovelhng dry earth a yard or so back
would be substituted for the heart-breaking toil of
throwing sloppy mud or sticky clay out of a trench
higher than yourself.
The work to be done had been explained to the
sergeants before we left our starting-point. As we
went along, the R.E. officer told off men at ten or
five yards' interval, according to the amount of earth
to be moved. Each man stopped when told off, and
the rest of the company passed him. Sergeants and
corporals stopped with their section or platoon, and
got the men started as soon as the last man of the
company had passed. At last up came the last man,
sergeant, and the other officer, and together we went
back all along. The men were on top (that is why
the working-party was a night one) ; sometimes
WORKING-PARTIES 58
they had not understood their orders and were doing
something wrong (a slack sergeant would then
probably have to be routed out and told off). The
men worked like fun, of course, it being known, to
every one's joy, that this was a piece-job, and that
we went home as soon as it was finished. There was
absolute silence, except the sound of faUing earth,
and an occasional chink of iron against stone ; or a
swish, and muttered cursings, as a bit of trench fell
in with a shde, dragging a man with it ; for it is not
always easy to clear a yard-wide " berm " without
crumbling the trench-edge in. One would not think
these men were " worn out," to see them working
as no other men in the world can work ; for nearly
every man was a miner. The novice will do only
half the work a trained miner will do, with the same
effort.
Sometimes I was appealed to as to the " yard."
Was this wide enough ? One man had had an un-
lucky bit given him with a lot of extra earth from a
dug-out thrown on to the original lot. So I re-
divided the task. It is amazing the way the time
passes while going along a line of workers, noticing,
talking, correcting, praising. By the time I got to
the first men of the company, they were half-way
through the task.
At last the job was finished. As many men as
space allowed were put on to help one section that
somehow was behind ; whether it was bad luck in
distribution or slack work no one knew or cared.
54 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
The work must be finished. The men wanted to
smoke, but I would not let them ; it was too near
the front trenches. And then I did a foohsh thing,
which might have been disastrous ! The R.E.
corporal had remained, though the officer had left
long ago. The corporal was to act as guide back,
and this he was quite ready to do if I was not quite
sure of the way. I, however, felt sure of it, and as
the corporal would be saved a long tramp if he could
go off to his dug-out direct without coming with us,
I foolishly said I had no need of him, and let him go.
I then lost my way completely. We had never been
in that section before, and none of the sergeants
knew it. We had come from the " R.E. Dump,"
and thither we must return, leaving our tools on the
way. But I had been told to take the men to the
Divisional Soup Kitchen first, which was about
four hundred yards north of X, the spot where we
entered the C.T. and which I was trying to find.
For all I knew I was going miles in the wrong direc-
tion. My only guide was the flares behind, which
assured me I was not walking to the Germans but
away from them. The unknown trenches began to
excite among the sergeants the suspicion that all was
not well. But I took the most colossal risk of stating
that I knew perfectly well what I was doing, and
strode on ahead.
There was silence behind after that, save for
splashings and splodgings. My heart misgave me
that I was coming to undrained trenches of the
WORKING-PARTIES 55
worst description, or to water-logged impasses !
Still I strode on, or waited interminable waits for the
" All up " signal. At last we reached houses, grim
and black, new and awfully unknown. I nearly
tumbled down a cellar as a sentry challenged. I was
preparing for humble questions as to where we were,
the nearest way to X, and a possible joke to the
sergeant (this joke had not materiahsed, and seemed
unhkely to be of the easiest), when I recovered my-
self from the cellar, mounted some steps, and found
myself on a road beside a group of Tommies emerging
from the Soup Kitchen ! My star (the only one
visible, I believe, that inky night) had led me there
direct ! I said nothing, as every one warmed up in
spirits as well as bodies with that excellent soup ;
and no one ever knew of the quailings of my heart
along those unknown trenches ! To lead men wrong
is always bad ; but when they are tired out it is un-
pardonable, and not quickly forgotten. As it was,
canteens were soon brimming with thick vegetable
soup, filled from a bubbling cauldron with a mighty
ladle. In the hot room men glistened and perspired,
while a regular steam arose from muddied boots and
puttees ; every one, from officer to latest joined
private, was sipping with dangerous avidity the
boihng fluid. Many charges have been laid against
divisional staffs, but never a complaint have I heard
against a soup kitchen ! So in good spirits we
tramped along, and dumped our tools in the place
where we had found them. " Clank-clank, clank,"
56 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
as spade fell on spade. Then, " You may smoke "
was passed down. The sergeant reported " All
correct, Sir ! " and we tramped along in file. Soon
the bursts of song were swallowed up in a great
whistUng concert, and we were all merry. The fit
passed, and there was silence ; then came the singing
again, which developed into hymns, and that took
us into our billets. Here we were greeted with the
most abominable news of reveille at 5.0 a.m., but I
think most of the men were too sleepy to hear it ;
we two officers deplored our fate while eating a
supper set out for us in a greenhouse, our temporary
mess-room !
That is a working-party : interesting as a first
experience to an officer ; but when multiplied ex-
ceedingly, by day, by night, in rain, mud, sleet, and
snow, carrying trench boards, filling sand-bags,
digging clay, bailing out liquid mud, and returning
cold and drenched, without soup — then, working-
parties became a monotonous succession of dis-
comforts that wore out the spirit as well as the
body.
The last six nights before the promised rest were
spent in working-parties at Festubert. There the
ground was low and wet, and it was decided to build
a line of breastwork trenches a few hundred yards
behind the existing line, so that we could retire on
to dry ground in case of getting swamped out. For
six nights in succession we left billets at 10. o p.m.
and returned by 4.0 a.m. The weather was the
WORKING-PARTIES 57
coldest, it turned out eventually, that winter. It
started with snow ; then followed hard frost for
four nights ; and, last but not least, a thaw and
incessant sleet and rain. I have never before ex-
perienced such cold ; but, on the other hand, I have
never before had to stand about all night in a severe
frost (it was actually, I believe, from io° to 15°
below freezing point). At 2.0 a.m. the stars would
gUtter with relentless mirth, as the cold pierced
through two cardigans and a sheepskin waistcoat.
I have skated at night, but always to return
by midnight to fire and bed. Bed ! At home
people were sleeping as comfortably as usual ; a
few extra blankets, perhaps, or more coals in the
grate !
I was out five nights of the six. Captain Dixon
was on leave, so we only had three officers in " B,"
and two had to go every night. Every night at 9.30
the company would be fallen in and marched off to
the rendezvous, there, at 10. o, to join the rest of the
battaUon. There was no singing ; very little talking.
In parts the road was very bad, and we marched in
file. The road was full of shell-holes, and bad gener-
ally ; the ice crackled and tinkled in the ruts and
puddles ; the frozen mud inchned you to stumble
over its ridges and bumps. It took us the best part
of an hour to reach our destination. The first night
we must have gone earlier than the other nights, as
I distinctly remember viewing by daylight those
most amazing ruins. There was a barrier across the
58 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
road just before you entered the village ; (a barrier
is usually made like this —
you can defend the road without blocking it to
traffic ; at the same time it cannot be rushed by
motor-cycles or armoured cars) ; then just opposite
were the few standing fragments of the church ;
bits of wall and mullion here and there ; and all
around tombstones leaning in every direction,
rooted up, shattered, split. There was one of the
crucifixes standing untouched in the middle of it all,
about which so much has been written ; whether it
had fallen and been erected again I cannot say.
The houses were more smashed, crumpled, and
chaotic than even Cuinchy or Givenchy
I remember that corner very vividly, because at
that spot came one of the few occasions on which
I had the " wind up " a little. Why, I know not.
We were halted a few moments, when two whizz-
bangs shot suddenly into a garden about twenty
yards to our right, with a vicious " Vee-bm . . .
Vee-bm." We moved on, and just as we got round
the corner I saw two flashes on my left, and two
more shells hissed right over us and fell with the
same stinging snarl into the same spot, just twenty
yards over us this time. I was, luckily, marching at
the rear of the company at the time, as I ducked and
almost sprawled in alarm. For the next minute or
WORKING-PARTIES 59
two I was all quivery. I am glad to know what it
feels like, as I have never experienced since such an
abject windiness ! I believe it was mainly due to
being so exposed on the hard hedgelcss road ; or,
perhaps that last pair did actually go particularly
near me. At any rate, such was my experience, and
so I record it.
At the entrance to the communication trench
R.E. officers told us off : "A " Company, " carrying
party " ; " B " Company to draw shovels and picks
and " follow me." Then we started off along about
a mile and a half of communication trenches. I
have already said that Festubert is a very wet
district, and it can easily be imagined that the
drainage problem is none of the easiest. This long
communication trench had been mastered by
trench-mats fastened down on long pickets which
were driven deep down into the mud. The result
was that the trench floor was raised about two feet
from the original bottom, and one walked along a
hollow-sounding platform over stagnant water.
The sound reminded me of walking along a wooden
landing-stage off the end of a pier. Every few
hundred yards were " passing points," pre-
sumably to facihtate passing other troops coming
in the other direction ; but as I never had the
good fortune to meet the other troops at these
particular spots, though I did in many others, I
60 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
cannot say they were particularly useful. Another
disadvantage about these water-logged trenches
was that the bad rains had made the water rise in
several places even over the raised trench-board
platform ; others were fastened on top ; but even
these were often not enough. And when the frost
came and froze the water on top of the boards, the
procession became a veritable cake-walk, humorous
no doubt to the stars and sky, but to the performers,
feeling their way in the thick darkness and ever
slipping and plunging a boot and puttee into the icy
water at the side, a nightmare of painful and jarring
experiences.
There was one junction of trenches where one had
to cross a dyke full of half-frozen water ; there was
always a congestion of troops here, ration-parties,
reHeving-parties, and ourselves. All relieving had
to be done at night, as the trenches with their arti-
ficially raised floors were no longer deep enough to
give cover from view. This crossing had to be
negociated in a most gingerly fashion, and several
men got wet to their waists when compelled to cross
while carrying an awkward-shaped hurdle. After
this, the trench was worse than ever ; in parts it
was built with fire-steps on one side, and one could
scramble on to this and proceed on the dry for
awhile ; but even here the slippery sand-bags would
often treacherously slide you back into the worst
part of the iced platform, and so gave but a doubtful
advantage At last the open was gained ; then
WORKING-PARTIES 61
came the crossing of the old Gennan trench, full of
all kinds of grim relics from the spring fighting.
And so to our destination.
On the open ground lay a tracing of white tape
like this —
forming a serpentine series of contacting squares ;
in the blackness only two white-bordered squares
were visible from one position. Each man was given
a square to dig. I forget the measurements ; about
two yards square, I think, and two feet deep. The
earth had to be thrown about eight yards back
against a breastwork of hurdles. These hurdles
were being brought up by the " carrying-parties "
and fastened by wires by the R.E.'s ; the R.E.
officers had, of course, laid our white tapes for us
previously. Eventually the sentries will stand
behind the hurdle breastwork with a water-ditch
ten yards in front of them, which obstacle will be
suitably enhanced by strong wire entanglements.
But all this vision of completion is hid from the
eyes of Private Jones, who only knows he has his
white-taped square to dig. Arms and equipment
are laid carefully on the side of the trench furthest
from the breastwork ; and nothing can be heard
but the hard breathing and the shovelhng and scrap-
ing of the " other ranks." For two hours those men
62 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
worked their hardest ; indeed, it was much the best
job to have on those cold nights. I did more digging
then than I have ever done before or since. " Come
on, Davies, you're all behind," and for ten minutes
I would do an abnormal amount of shovelhng, until,
out of breath, I would hand the boy back his shovel,
and tell him to carry on, while all aglow I went
along the Hne examining the progress of the work.
We had quite a number of bullets singing and crack-
ing across, and there were one or two casualties
every night. Sometimes flares would pop over, and
every one would freeze into static posture ; but on
the whole things were very quiet, the enemy doubt-
less as full of water as ourselves.
That intense cold ! Yet I did not know then that
it is far worse being on sentry in the frost than
marching and digging. And I am not sure that the
last night, when it rained incessantly, was not worse
than all the rest. We had a particularly bad piece
of ground that night, pitted with shell-holes, full of
frozen water : you were bound to fall in one at last,
and get wet to the waist ; but even if you did escape
that sticky humiliation, the driving sleet and rain
were bad enough in themselves. That was a night
when I found certain sergeants sheltered together
in a corner ; and certain other sergeants in the
middle of their men and the howling gale. I soon
routed the former out, but did not forget ; and have
since discovered how valuable a test of the good and
the useless N.C.O. is a working.party in the rain.
WORKING-PARTIES C3
Never have I longed for 2.0 a.m. as I did that
night ! My feet were wet, my body tired, my whole
frame shivering with an approaching cold. The
men could do nothing any longer in that stinking
slush (for these old shell-holes of stagnant water
were, to say the least of it, unsavoury !). I was so
heavy with sleep I could scarce keep my eyes open.
But when at last the order came from our second-in-
command " Cease work," I was filled with a dogged
energy that carried me back to billets in the best of
spirits, though I actually fell asleep as I marched
behind the company, and bumped into the last four,
when they halted suddenly half-way home ! And
so at four o'clock the men tumbled upstairs to
breakfast and braziers (thanks to a good quarter-
master-sergeant). I drank Bovril down below, and
then, in pyjamas, sweaters, and innumerable
blankets, turned in till ii.o a.m. Next afternoon
we left Rue de I'Epinette and halted at a village on
the road to Lillers, whence we were to train to " a
more northern part of the line," and enjoy at last
our long-earned rest.
CHAPTER IV
REST
RUMOURS were rife again, and mostly
right this time. " The CO. knew the part
^we were going to : a chalk country . . .
rolling downs . . . four or five weeks' rest . . . field
training thirty miles from the firing-line." Chalk
downs ! To a Kentish man the words were magic,
after the dull sodden flats of Flanders. I longed
for a map of France, but could not get hold of one.
As we marched to Lillers I looked at the flat straight
roads and the ditches, at the weary monotony,
uninspired by hill or view, at the floods on the roads,
and the uninteresting straightness of the villages ;
and I felt that I was at the end of a chapter. Any
change must be better than this. And chalk !
chalk ! short dry turf, and slopes with purple
woods ! I had forgotten these things existed.
I forget the name of the village where we halted
for two nights. I had a little room to myself,
reached by a rickety staircase from the yard. One
shut the staircase door to keep out the yard. Here
several new officers joined us, Clark being posted
to our company, and soon I began to see my last
64
REST 65
two months as history. For we began to tell our
adventures to Clark, who had never been in the
firing-line ! Think of it ! He was envious of our
experiences ! So I listened in awe and heard a
tale develop, a true tale, the tale of the night
the mine went up. It was no longer a case of
disputing how many trench-mortars came over, but
telHng an interested audience that trench-mortars
did come over ! Clark had never seen one. And
I hstened agape to hear myself the hero of a
humorous story. When the mine went up, I had
come out of my dug-out rather late and asked if
anything had happened. This tale became elabor-
ated : I was putting my gloves on calmly, it seems,
as I strolled out casually and asked if anyone had
heard a rather loud noise ! And so stories crystal-
lised, a word altered here and there for effect, but
true, and as past history quite interesting.
The move was made the occasion, by our CO.,
of very elaborate and careful operation orders. No
details were left to chance, and a conference of
officers was called to explain the procedure of
getting a battahon on a train and getting it off
again. As usual, the officers' valises had to be
ready at a very early hour, and the company mess-
boxes packed correspondingly early. Edwards, I
think, was detailed as O.C. loading-party. Every-
thing like this was down in the operation orders.
The adjutant had had a time of it.
Certainly the entraining went Hke clockwork, and
5
66 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
once more I was seated in a grey-upholstered
corridor carriage ; the men were in those useful
adaptable carriages inscribed " Chevaux lo. Hommes
30." Our Tommies were evidently a kind of centaur
class, for they went in by twenties. As far as I
can remember, we entrained at 10. o a.m. ; we
arrived at a station a few miles from Amiens at
g.o p.m. A slow journey, but I felt excited like a
child. I must keep going to the corridor to put
my head out of the window. It was a sparkling,
nippy air ; the smell of the steam, the grit of the
engine — these were things I had forgotten ; and
soon there were rolling plains, hills, clustering
villages. The route, through St. Pol, DouUens,
and Canaples, is ordinary enough, no doubt ; and
so, too, the gleam of white chalk that came at last.
But if you think that ordinary things cannot be
wonderful beyond measure, then go and live above
ground and underground in Flanders for two months
on end in winter ; then, perhaps, you will under-
stand a Uttle of my good spirits.
It was quite dark when we arrived. Then for
three and a half hours we waited in a meadow out-
side the station, arms piled, the men sitting about
on their waterproof sheets. Meanwhile the trans-
port detrained, a lengthy business. Tea was pro-
duced from those marvellous field-kitchens. The
night was cold, though, and it was too damp to
sit down. For hours we stood about, tired. Then
came the news that our six-mile march would be
REST 67
more like double six ; that the billets had been
altered ! ... At half-past twelve we marched off.
It was starUght, but pretty dark. Eighteen miles
we marched, reaching Montagne at half-past seven ;
every man was in full marching kit, and most of
them carried sandbagfuls of extras. It was a big
effort, especially as the men had done nothing in
the nature of a long march for months. Well I
remember it — the tired silence, the steady tramp,
along the interminable road. Sometimes' the band
would strike up for a little, but even bands tire,
and cannot play continuously. Mile after mile of
hard road, and then the hedges would spring up
into houses, and from the opened windows would
gaze down awakened women. Hardly ever was a
hght shown in any house. Then the village would
be left behind, and men shifted their packs and
exchanged a sand-bag, unslung a rifle from one
shoulder to the other, and settled down to another
stretch, wondering if the next village would be
the last.
So it went on interminably all through the winter
night. Once we halted in a village, and I sat on
a doorstep with O'Brien discussing methods of
keeping our eyes open. Edwards had been riding
the horse, and had nearly tumbled off asleep. At
another halt, half-way up a hill, I discovered a
box of beef lozenges and distributed it among No. 6
platoon. All the last ten miles I was carrying a
rifle and a sand-bag. Sergeant Callaghan had the
68 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
same, besides all his own kit. Sergeant Andrews
kept on as steady as a rock. There were falterers,
but we kept them in ; only in the last two miles
did one or two drop out. And all the while I was
elated beyond measure ; partly at seeing men like
Ginger Joe, with his dry wit flashing, and Tudor,
with his stolid power ; but partly, too, at the
climb uphill, the swing down, mysterious woods,
and the unmistakable trunks of pines. And all
the time we were steadily climbing ; we must be
upon a regular tableland.
Dawn broke, and it got lighter and lighter — and
so we entered Montagne. The quartermaster had
had a nice job billeting at 2.0 a.m., but he had done
it, and the men dropped on to their straw, into
outhouses, anywhere. The accommodation seemed
small and bad, but that could be arranged later.
To get the men in, that was the main thing. One
old woman fussed terribly, and the men looked like
bayoneting her ! We soon got the men in some-
how. Then for our own billets. We agreed to have
a scratch breakfast as soon as it could be procured.
Meanwhile I went to the end of the village and
found myself on the edge of the tableland ; before
me was spread out a great valley, with a poplar-
lined road flung right across it ; villages were
dotted about ; there were woods, and white ribbon
by-roads. And over it all glowed the slant morning
sun. I was on the edge of a chalky plateau ; it
was all just as I had imagined. I slept from 11. 0
REST 69
a.m. to 7.0 p.m., when I got up for a meal at which
we were all short-tempered ! And at 9.0 p.m.
I retired again to sleep till 7.0 next morning.
Montagne — How shall I be able to create a picture
of Montagne ? As I look back at all those eight
months, the whole adventure seems unreal, a dream ;
yet somehow those first few days in the httle village
had for me a dream-hke quahty, unlike any other
time. I think that then I felt that I was living in
an unreahty ; whereas at other times life was real
enough ; and it is only now, afterwards, that these
days are gradually melting through distance into
dreams. At any rate, if the next few pages are
dull to the reader, let him try and weave into them
a sort of fairy glamour, and imagine a kind of spell
cast over everything in which people moved as in
a dream.
First, there was the country itself. The next
day (after a day's sleep and a night's on top of it)
was, if I remember right, rather wet, and we had
kit inspection in billets, and tried to eke out the
hours by gas-helmet drill, and arm-drill in squads
distributed about the various farmyards and barns.
Then Captain Dixon decided to take the company
out on a short route march, and as it was raining
very steadily we took half the company with two
waterproof sheets per man. One sheet was thrown
round the shoulders in the usual way ; the other
was tied kilt-wise round the waist. The result was
an effective rainproof, if unmiUtary-looking dress !
70 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
We set off and soon came to a large wood with a
broad ride through it.
Along this ride we marched, two-deep now, and
I at the rear as second-in-command. Here I felt
most strongly that strange glamour of unreality.
It was but three months ago, and I was in the heart
of Wales, yet such was the effect of a few months
that I looked on everything with the most exuberant
sense of novelty. The rain-beads on the red-brown
birch trees ; the ivy ; the oaks ; the strange still-
ness in the thick wood after the gusts of wind and
slashes of rain ; especially the sounds — chattering
jays, invisible peeping birds, the squelching of boots
on a wet grass track — everything reminded me of
a past world that seemed immeasurably distant,
of past winters that had been completely forgotten.
Then we emerged into a wide clearing along the
edge of the wood, full of stunted gorse and junipers.
Long coarse grass grew in tussocks that matted
under foot ; and now I could see the whole com-
pany straggling along in front of me, slipping and
sliding about on the wet grass in their curious kilt-
like costumes, some of which were now showing
signs of uneasiness and tending to slip in rings to
the ground. Everyone was very pleased with life.
A halt was called at length, and while officers dis-
cussed buying shot-guns at Amiens, or stalking the
wily hare with a revolver, Tommy, I have reason
to believe, was planning more effective means of
snaring Brer rabbit. Next day in orders appeared
REST 71
an extract from corps orders re prohibition of poach-
ing and destruction of game. It was all part of
the dream that we were surprised, almost shocked,
at this unwarranted exhibition of property rights !
Not that there was much game about, anyhow.
The next day we did an advance guard scheme,
down in the plain. It was a crisp winter day, and
I remember the great view from the top of the hill,
on the edge of the plateau as you leave Montagne.
It was all mapped out, with its hedgeless fields,
its curUng white roads, and its few dark triangles
and polygons of fir woods. But we had not long
to see it, for we came into observation then (so
this dream game pretended !) and were soon in
extended order working our way along over the
plain. It all came back to one, this " open warfare "
business, the advancing in short rushes, the flurried
messages from excited officers to stolid platoon-
sergeants, the taking cover, the fire-orders, the
rattling of the bolts, the lying on the belly in a
ploughed field ; and yes ! the spectator, old man
or woman, gazing in stupid amazement at the
khaki figures rushing over his fields. Then came
the assault, bayonets fixed, and the C.O.'s whistle,
ending the game for that day. " Game," that was
it : it is all a game, and when you get tired you
go home to a good meal, and discuss the humour
of it, and probably have a pow-wow in the evening
in which the O.C. " A " is asked why he went off
to the left, the real answer being that he lost
72 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
direction badly, but the actual answer given ex-
plaining the subtlety of a detour round a piece of
dead ground ! Which is the dream ? this, or the
mud-slogging in the trenches and the interminable
nights ?
For, every night we went to bed ! Think of it !
Every night ! Always that bed, that silence, that
priceless privacy of sleep ! I had a rather cold
ground-floor billet with a door that would not shut ;
yet it was worth any of your beds at home ! And
I should be here for a month, perhaps six weeks !
I wrote for my basin and stand, for books, for all
sorts of things. I felt I could accumulate, and
spread myself. It was Uke home after hotels !
For always we had been moving, moving ; even
our six days out were often in two or even three
different billets.
So, too, with our mess. The dream here consisted
of a jolly little parlour that was the envy of all
the other company messes. As usual, the rooms
led into one another, the kitchen into the parlour,
the parlour into a bedroom ; I might almost con-
tinue, and say the bedroom into a bed ! For the
four-poster, when curtained off, is a little room in
itself. It was a good billet, but best of all was
Madame herself. Suffice it to say she would not
take a penny for use of crockery ; and she would
insist on us making full use of everything ; she
allowed all our cooking to be done in her kitchen ;
and on cold nights she would insist on our servants
REST 73
sitting in the kitchen, though that was her only
sitting-room. Often have I come in about seven
o'clock to fmd our dinner frizzling merrily on the
fire under the supervision of Gray, the cook, while
Madame sat humbly in the corner eating a frugal
supper of bread and milk, before retiring to her
little room upstairs. Ah, Madame ! there are many
who have done what you have done, but few, I
think, more graciously. If we tried to thank her
for some extra kindness, she had always the same
reply " You are welcome, M. I'Officier. I have
heard the guns, and the Germans passed through
Amiens ; if it were not for the English, where
should we be to-day ? "
So we settled down for our " rest," for long
field days, lectures after tea, football matches, and
week-ends ; I wrote for my Field Service Regula-
tions, and rubbed up my knowledge of outposts
and visual training. But scarcely had I been a
week at Montague when off I went suddenly, on a
Sunday morning, to the Third Army School. I
had been told my name was down for it, a few days
before, but I had forgotten all about it, when I
received instructions to bicycle off with Sergeant
Roberts ; my kit and servant to follow in a Hmber.
I had no idea what the " Third Army School "
was, but with " note-book, pencil, and protractor "
I cycled off at ii.o a.m. " to fields and pastures
new."
Most people, I imagine, have had the following
74 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
experience. They have a great interest in some
particular subject, yet they have somehow not got
the key to it. They regret that they were never
taught the elements of it at school ; or it is some
new science or interest that has arisen since their
schooldays, such as flying or motoring. They are
really ashamed of asking questions ; and all books
on the subject are technical and presuppose just
that elementary knowledge that the interested
amateur does not possess. Then suddenly he
comes on a book with those delicious phrases in
the preface promising " to avoid all technical
details," apologising for " what may seem almost
childishly elementary," and containing at the end
an expert bibliography. These are the books
written by very wise and very kind men, and
because they are worth so much they usually cost
least of all !
Such was my delightful experience at the Army
School. I will confess to a terrible ignorance of
my profession — I did not know how many brigades
made up a division ; " the artillery " were to me
vague people whom the company commander rang
up on the telephone, and who appeared in gaiters in
Bethune ; a bomb was a thing I avoided with a
peculiar aversion ; and as to the general conduct
of the war I was the most ignorant of pawns. The
wildest things were said about Loos ; the Daily
Mail had just heard of the Fokker, and I had not
the remotest idea whether we were hopelessly out-
REST 75
classed in the air, or whether perhaps after all
there were people " up top " who were not so
surprised or disconcerted at the appearance of the
Fokker as the Northcliffe Press. Moreover, I had
been impressed with the reiteration of my CO.,
that my battalion was the finest in the Army,
and that my division was likewise the best. Yet
I had always felt that there were other good
battahons, and that " K.'s Army " was, to say the
least of it, in a considerable majority when com-
pared with the contemptible Httle original which
I had had the luck to join !
Imagine my delight, then, at finding myself one
of over a hundred captains and senior subalterns
representing their various battahons. Regulars,
Territorials, and Kitcheners, we were all there
together ; one's vision widened like that of a boy
first going to school. Here at least was a great
opportunity, if only the staff was good. And any
doubt on that question was instantly set at rest
by the Commandant's opening address, explaining
that the instructors were all picked men with a
large experience in this war, that in the previous
month's course mostly subalterns had been sent and
this time it had been the aim to secure captains
only (oh ! balm in Gilead this !) and that apologies
were due if some of the lectures and instructions
were elementary ; that bombing experts, for
instance, must not mind if the bombing course
started right at the very beginning, as it had been
76 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
found in the previous course that it was wrong to
presume any military knowledge to be the common
possession of all officers in the school. Those who
understood my simile of the expert's kind book to
the amateur will understand that there were few
of us who did not welcome such a promising bill
of fare.
I do not intend to say much about the instruc-
tion at the Army School — a good deal of what I
learnt there is unconsciously embodied in the rest
of this book — but it is the spirit of the place that
I want to record. I can best describe it as the
opposite of what is generally known as academic.
Theories and text-books about the war were at a
discount : here were men who had been through
the fire, every phase of it. It was not a question
of opinions, but of facts. This came out most
clearly in discussions after the lectures ; a point
would be raised about advancing over the open :
" We attacked at St. Julien over open ground
under heavy fire, and such and such a thing was
our experience " would at once come out from
someone. And there was no scoring of debating
points ! We were all out to pool our knowledge
and experience all the time.
The Commandant inspired in everyone a most
tremendous enthusiasm. His lectures on " Morale "
were the finest I have ever heard anywhere. " Put
yourself in your men's position on every occasion ;
continually think for them, give them the best
REST 77
possible time, be in the best spirits always ; " " long
faces " were anathema ! No one can forget his
tale of the doctor who never laughed, and whom
he put in a barn and taiiglit him how to ! " ' Hail
fellow well met ' to all other officers and regiments "
was another of his great points. " Give 'em a
d — d good lunch — a d — d good lunch." " Get a
good mess going." " Ask your Brigadier into lunch
in the trenches : make him come in." " Concerts ?
— plenty of concerts in billets." " An extra tot of
rum to men coming off patrol." All this was a
" good show." But long faces, inhospitality, men
not cheerful and singing, officers not seeing that their
men get their dinners, after getting into billets,
before getting their own ; officers supervising
working-parties by sitting under haystacks instead
of going about cheering the men ; brigadiers not
knowing their officers ; poor lunches — all these
things were a " bad show, a d — d bad show ! "
These lectures were full of the most dehcious
anecdotes and thriUing stories, and backed up by
a huge enthusiasm and a most emphatic practice
of his preaching. We had a concert every Wednes-
day, and every Saturday the four motor-buses took
the officers into Amiens, and the sergeants on
Sundays — week-ends were in fact " good shows."
Then there were the lectures. The second week,
for instance, was a succession of lectures on the
Battle of Loos. These lectures used to take place
after tea, and the discussion usually lasted till
78 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
dinner. First was a lecture by an infantry major
of the Seventh Division (who needless to say had
been very much in it !). Then followed one by
an artillery officer, giving his version of it ; then
followed an R.E. officer. There was nothing hidden
away in a corner. It was all facts, facts, facts.
An enlarged map of our own and the German
trenches was most fascinating to us who had for
the most part never handled one before. I remember
the Major's description of the fighting in the
Quarries ; it was one of the most vivid bits of
narrative I have ever heard. Then there were other
fascinating lectures — Captain Jefferies, the big
game hunter, on Sniping : the Commandant again
on Patrol work and discipHne, and Dealing with
prisoners : two lectures from the Royal Flying
Corps, perhaps most fascinating of all.
We drilled hard with rifles : we took a bombing
course and threw live bombs : we went through
the gas, and had a big demonstration with smoke
bombs : we went to a squadron of the R.F.C.,
inspected the sheds, saw the aeroplanes, and had
anything we liked explained : we went out in
motor-buses and carried out schemes of attack and
defence : we did outpost schemes : drew maps :
dug trenches and revetted them. In short, there
was very little we did not do at the School.
It was, in fact, a " good show." The School was
in a big white chateau on the main road — a new
house built by the owner of a factory. The village
REST 79
really lies like a sediment at the bottom of a basin,
with houses clustering and scrambling up the sides
along the high road running out of it east and west,
getting thinner and fewer up the hill, to disappear
altogether on the tableland. The jute factory was
working hard night and day : we used to have
hot baths in the long wooden troughs that are used
for dyeing long rolls of matting, and I know no
hot baths to equal those forty-footers !
Needless to say, we took advantage of our com-
mandant's arrangement for free 'bus rides into
Amiens every Saturday. Christmas Day falhng on
a Saturday, we all had a Christmas dinner at the
Hotel de TUnivers. This, needless to say, was a
" good show." It was a pity, though, that turkey
had been insisted on, as turkey with salad, minus
sausages, bread-sauce, and brussels sprouts did not
seem somehow the real thing ; the chef had jibbed
at sausages especially ! Better at Rome to have
done completely as Rome does. After all we cannot
give the French much advice in cooking or in war.
Otherwise the dinner was good, and unhke our
folk at home we had a merry Christmas.
Of course I went to see the Cathedral that Ruskin
has claimed to be the most perfect building in the
world ; indeed, each Saturday found me there ;
for like all true beauty the edifice does not attract
merely by novelty but satisfies the far truer test
of familiarity. Yet I confess to a thrill on first
entering that dream in stone, which could not come
80 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
a second time. For down in the mud I had for-
gotten, in the obsession of the present, man's dreams
and aspirations for the future. Now, here again
I was in touch with eternal things that wars do
not affect. I remember once at Malvern we had
been groping and choking in a thick fog all day ;
then someone suggested a walk, and three of us
ventured out and cUmbed the Beacon. Half-way
up the fog began to thin, and soon we emerged
into a clear sunshine. Below lay all the plain
wrapped in a great level blanket of white fog ;
here and there the top of a tall tree or a small
hill protruded its head out of the mist and seemed
to be laughing at its poor hidden companions ;
and in a cloudless blue the sun was smiling at
mankind below who had forgotten his very existence.
So in Amiens Cathedral I used to get my head out
of the thick fog of war for a time, and in that
stately silence recover my vision of the sun.
The cathedral is a building full of all the fresh-
ness of spring. I was at vespers there on Christmas
afternoon, and was then impressed by the wonderful
hghtness of the building : so often there is gloom
in a cathedral, that gives a heavy feeling. But
Amiens Cathedral is perfectly Ughted, and in the
east window glows a blue that reminded me of
viper's bugloss in a Swiss meadow. My imagina-
tion flew back to the building of the cathedral,
and to the brain that conceived it, and beyond
that again to the tradition that through long years
REST 81
moulded the conception ; and behind all to the
idea, the ultimate birth of this perfect creation.
And one seemed to be straining almost beyond
humanity, to see the first spring flowers looking up
in wonder at the sky. The stately pillars were
man's aspiration towards his Creator, the floating
music his attempt at praise.
Yet it was only as I left the building that I
found the key to the full understanding of this
perfect expression of an idea. Round the chancel
is a set of bas-rehefs depicting a saint labouring
among his people. But what people ! They live,
they speak ! The relief is so deep, that some of
the figures are almost in the round, and several
come outside the slabs altogether. They are the
people of mediaeval Amiens ; they are the very
people who were living in the town while their
great cathedral rose stone by stone to be the wonder
of their city, the pride of all Picardy, Almost
grotesque in their vivid humanity, they are the
same people who walk outside the cathedral to-day.
The master-artist, greater in his dreams than his
fellow men, was yet blessed with that divine sense
of humour that made him love them for their quaint
smallnesses ! So in Amiens I felt a double inspira-
tion : there was man's offering of his noblest and
most beautiful to his Creator, and there was also
the reminder, in the saint among the Amiens
populace, that God's answer was not a proud bend
of the head as He deigned to accept the offering
6
82 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
of poor little man, but a coming down among
them, a claiming of equality with them, even
though they refuse still to reaHse their divinity,
and choose to live in a self-made suffering and to
degrade themselves in a fog of war.
All too quickly the month went by. The enthu-
siasm and interest of everybody grew in a steady
crescendo, and no one, I am sure, will ever forget
the impression left by the Major-General who was
deputed to come and " tell us one or two things "
from the General Staff. In a quiet voice, with a
quiet smile, he compared our position with that
of a year ago ; told us facts about our numbers
compared with the enemy's ; our guns compared
with his ; the real position in the air, the temporary
superiority of the Fokker that would vanish com-
pletely and finally in a month or so ; in everything
we were now superior except heavy trench-mortars,
and in a month or so we should have a big supply
of them too, and a d — d sight heavier ! And we
could afford to wait. One got the impression that
all our grousings and doubtings were completely
out of date, that up at the top now was a unity
of command that had thought everything out and
could afford to wait. Later on I forgot this impres-
sion, but I remember it so well now. Even through
Verdun we could afford to wait. We had all the
cards now. There was a sort of breathless silence
throughout this quiet speech. And when it ended
with a " Good luck to you, gentlemen," there was
REST 88
applause ; but one's chief desire was to go outside
and shout. It was a bonfire mood : best of all
would have been a bonfire of Daily Mails !
We returned to our units on Sunday, 9th January,
1916, by motor-bus, which conveyed us some sixty
or seventy miles, when we were dropped, Sergeant
Roberts, myself, and Lewis, my servant. Leaving
Lewis with my vaUse, we walked in the moonlight
up to Montague, where I got the transport officer
to send a limber for my valise. " O'Brien on leave "
was the first thing I grasped, as I tried to acclimatise
myself to my surroundings. Leave ! My three
months was up, so I ought to get leave myself in
a week or so ; in a few days in fact. My first
leave ! The next week was rosy from the prospect.
My second impression was like that of a poet full
of a great sunset and trying to adjust himself to
the dry unimaginative remarks of the rest of the
community who have relegated sunsets to perdition
during dinner. For every one was so dull ! They
groused, they mahgned the Staff, they were pessi-
mistic, they were ignorant, oh ! profoundly
ignorant ; they were in fact in a state of not
having seen a vision ! I could not beheve then
that the time would come when I, too, should
forget the vision, and fix my eyes on the mud !
Still, for the moment, I was immensely surprised,
though I was not such a fool as to start at once
on a general reform of everyone, starting with the
Brigadier. For under the Commandant's influence
84 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
one felt ready to tell off the Brigadier, if he didn't
get motor-'buses to take your men to a divisional
concert instead of saying the men must march three
miles to it. But, as I say, I restrained myself.
A week of field days, of advance guards and
attacks in open order, of battalion drill, company
drill, arm-drill, gas-helmet drill ; lectures in the
school in the evening, and running drill before
breakfast. Yet all the time I felt chafing to get
back into the firing-line. I felt so much better
equipped to command my men. I wanted to
practise all my new ideas. Then my leave came
through.
Leave " comes through " in the following manner.
The lucky man receives an envelope from the
orderly room, in the corner of which is written
" Leave." Inside is an " A " Form (Army Form
C 2121) with this magic inscription : " Please note
you will take charge of other ranks proceeding
on leave to-morrow morning, 17th inst. They will
parade outside orderly room at 7.0 a.m. sharp."
Then follow instructions as to where to meet the
'bus. " Take charge ! " If you blind-folded those
fellows they would find their way somehow by
the quickest route to Blighty ! The officer is then
an impossible person to live with. He is con-
tinually jumping about, upsetting everybody, getting
sandwiches, and discussing England, looking at the
paper to see " What's on " in town, talking, being
unnecessarily bright and cheery. He is particularly
REST 85
offensive in the eyes of the man just come back
from leave. Still, it is his day ; abide with him
until he clears off ! So they abode with me until
the evening, and next morning Oliver and I started
off in the darkness with our four followers. As we
left the village it was just beginning to Hghten a
little, and we met the drums just turning out, cold
and sleepy. As we sprang down the hill, leaving
Montague behind us, faintly through the dawn we
heard reveill6 rousing our unfortunate comrades to
another Monday morning !
Then came the long, long journey that nobody
minds really, though every one grumbles at it.
At B an hour's halt for omelettes and coffee
and bread and jam, while the Y.M.C.A. stall supplied
tea and buns innumerable. B will be a station
known for all time to thousands. " Do you remem-
ber B ? " we shall ask each other. " Oh ! yes.
Good omelettes one got there." Then the port,
and fussy R.T.O's again. Why make a fuss, when
everyone is magnetised towards the boat ? Under
the hght of a blazing gas-jet squirting from a
pendant ball, we crossed the gangway.
There were men of old time who fell on their
native earth and kissed it, on returning after exile.
We did not kiss the boards of Southampton pier-head,
but we understood the spirit that inspired that
action as we steamed quietly along the Solent over
86 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
a grey and violet sea. There were mists that
morning, and the Hampshire coast was grey and
vague ; but steadily the engine throbbed, and we
gUded nearer and nearer, entered Southampton
Water, and at last were near enough to see houses
and fields and people. People. English women.
We disembarked. But what dull people to meet
us ! Officials and watermen who have seen hundreds
of leave-boats arrive — every day in fact ! The last
people to be able to respond to your feelings. Still,
what does it matter ? There is the train, and an
English First ! Some one started to run for one,
and in a moment we were all running ! . . .
But you have met us on leave.
CHAPTER V
ON THE MARCH
ON this leave I most religiously visited
relations and graciously received guests.
For one thing, I felt it my duty to dispel
all this ignorant pessimism that I found rolling
about in large chunks, like the thunder in Alice in
Wonderland. I exacted apologies, humble apologies
from them. " How can we help it ? " they pleaded.
" We have no means of knowing anything except
through the papers."
" No, I suppose you can't help it," I would
reply, and forgive them from my throne of optimism.
Eight days passed easily enough.
After dinner sometimes comes indigestion : people
enjoy the one and not the other. So after leave
comes the return from leave, the one in Tommy-
French bon, the other no ban. I hope I do not
offend by calling the state of the latter a mental
indigestion ! It was with a kind of fierce joy that
we threw out our bully and biscuits to the crowds
of French children who lined the railway banks
crying out, " Bullee-beef," " Biskeet." The custom
of supplying these rations on the leave train has
87
88 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
long since been discontinued now, but in those
days the little beggars used to know the time of
the train to a nicety, and must have made a good
trade of it.
As soon as I got back to Montague I heard a
" move " was in the air, and I was delighted. I was
fearfully keen to get back into the firing-line again.
I was full of life, and in the mood for adventure.
I started a diary. Here are some extracts.
" 29th January, 191 6. Lewis (my servant)
brought in a bucket of water this morning which
contained 10% of mud. As the mud dribbled
on to the green canvas of my bath during the end
of the pouring, he saw it for the first time. Ap-
parently the well is running dry. . . . He managed
to get some clean water at length and I had a great
bath. Madame asked me as I went in to breakfast
why I whistled getting up that morning. I tried
to explain that I was in good spirits. It was an
exhilarating morning ; outside was a great cawing of
rooks, and the slant sunlight lit up everything with
a rich colour ; the mouldy green on the twigs of
the apple trees was a joy to see. Later in the day
I noticed how all this delicious morning light had
gone.
"7 p.m. Orders have just come in for the move
to-morrow. Loading party at 6.0 a.m. under
Edwards, who is inwardly fed up but outwardly
quite pleased. Valises to be ready by 6.45 a.m.
Dixon grouses as usual at orders coming in late.
ON THE MARCH 89
These moves always try the tempers of all concerned.
O'Brien and Edwards are now on the rustle, collect-
ing kit. We have accumulated rather a lot of
papers, books, tins of ration, tobacco, etc."
Madame was genuinely sorry to see us go. We
gave her a large but beautiful ornament for her
mantelpiece, suitably inscribed. The dear soul was
overwhehned, and drew cider from a cellar hitherto
unknown to us, which she pressed on our servants
as well as on us. We made the fellows drink it,
though they were not very keen on it !
" 30 Jan., 1916. Montague — Vaux-en-Amienois.
I found myself suddenly detailed as O.C. rear party,
in lieu of Edwards, who has to remain in Montague
and hand over to the incoming battalion. At 9.30
three A.S.C. lorries arrived, and we loaded up. I
had about forty men for the job. It was good to see
these boys heaving up rolls of many-coloured
blankets, which filled nearly two lorries ; the third
was packed with a mixture of boilers, dixies, brooms,
spades, lamps, etc. The leather and skin waist-
coats had to be left behind for a second journey :
I left the shoemaker-sergeant and four men with
these to await the return of one of the lorries. As
we worked a fog rolled up, which was to stay all day.
Edwards meanwhile saw to it that all the odd coal
and wood left at the transport was taken to our good
Madame ; this much annoyed the groups of women
who peered like vultures from the doorways, ready
90 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
to squabble over the pickings as soon as the last of
us had departed.
Farewell to Montagne. All the fellows were dull.
Even Sawyer the smiling, who had been prominent
with his cheery face in the loading-up, was silent
and dull. No life. No spirit. A mournful lot, save
for the plum-pudding dog that galloped ahead and
on either flank, smelling and pouncing and tossing
his mongrel ears in delight. He belonged to one
of the men, a gift from a warm-hearted daughter
of France.
A dull lot, I say. I rallied them. I persuaded.
I whistled, hoping to put a tune into their dull
hearts ; and as we swung downhill into Riencourt
they began to sing. It was but a sorry thin sort of
singing though, like a winter sunshine ; there was
no power behind it, no joy, no spontaneity. Sud-
denly, however, as we came into the village, there
was a company of the Warwicks falling in, and
everyone sang like fury. Baker, one of the last
draft, was the moving spirit. But he is young to
this life, and later on, when the fog had entered
their souls again, he said he could not well sing with
a pack on. Yet is not that the very time to sing, is
not that the very virtue of singing, the conquest
of the poor old body by the indomitable spirit ?
It was a fifteen-mile march. At the third halt
I gave half an hour for the eating of bread and
cheese. Then was the hour of the plum-pudding
hound ; also appeared a sort of Newfoundland
ON THE MARCH 91
collie, very big in the hind-quarters, and very dirty
as well as ill-bred. Between them they made rich
harvest of crusts and cheese. We sat on a bank
along the road, but after half an hour we were all
getting cold in the raw air, and I fell them in again,
and we got on our way. Soon they warmed up
and whistled and sang for a quarter of an hour ;
then silence returned, and eyes turned to the ground
again. This march began to tell on the older men.
Halford fell out, and I sent Corporal Dewey to bring
him along, hastily scribbling the name of our
destination on a shp torn from my field-message
book, and giving it to him. Then Riley fell out,
and Flynn. I began to dread the appearance of
Sergeant Hayman from the rear, to tell me of some
one else. They were men, these, who had been
employed on various jobs ; the older and weaker
men. There was no skrim-shanking, for there was
no Red Cross cart behind us. But no one else fell
out ; the pace was steady and they were as fit as
anything, these fellows. Then happened an inci-
dent. We had just turned off the main Amiens
road, and come to a forked road. I halted a moment
to make sure of the way by the map, and while I did
so apparently some sergeant from a regiment
billeted in the village there told Sergeant Hayman
that the battalion had taken the left road. The way
was to the right, and as I struck up a steep hill,
Sergeant Hayman ran up and told me the battahon
(which had started nearly two hours before us)
92 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
had gone to the left. ' I'm going to the right, ser-
geant,' said I. And the sergeant returned to the
rear. Up, up, up. Grind, grind, grind. I began to
hear signs of doubt behind. ' Did you hear that ?
Said the battahon went t'other way,' and so on.
' Ain't 'e got a map all right ? ' from a beHever.
' Three kilos more,' I said at the next stop. But
some of the fellows had got it into their heads, I
could see, that we were wrong. I studied the map ;
there was no doubt we were all right. Yet a mis-
take would be calamitous, as the men were very
done. Ah ! a kilo-stone ! ' Two kilos to ,' a
place not named on the map at all. This gave me
a qualm ; and behind came the usual mispro-
nunciations of this annoying village on the stone.
But lo ! on the left came a turning as per map.
Round we swung, downhill, and suddenly we were
in a village. Another qualm as I saw it full of Jocks.
The doubters were just beginning to reahse this
fact, when we turned another corner, and almost
fell on top of the CO. ! In five minutes we were
in billets. . . ."
The next day we marched to the village of Quer-
rieux. There I heard the guns again after two
months.
"31st January. This evening was full of the
walking tour spirit, the spirit of good company.
We were billeted at a farmhouse, and the farmer
ON THE MARCH 98
showed Captain Dixon and me all round his farm.
He was full of pride in everything ; of his horses first
of all. There were three in the first stable, sleek and
strong ; then we saw la mere, a beautiful mare in
foal ; then lastly there was ' Piccaninny,' a yearUng.
All the stables were spotlessly clean, and the animals
well kept. But to see him with his lambs was best
of all. The ewes were feeding from racks that ran
all along both sides of the sheds, and his lantern
showed two long rows of level backs, solid and uni-
form and dull ; while in the middle of the shed
was a jocund company of close-cropped lambs,
frisking, pushing, jostling, or pulHng at their dams ;
as lively and naughty a crew as you could imagine.
' Ah ! voleur,' cried our friend, picking up a lamb
that was stealing a drink from the wrong tap, and
pointing to its dam at the other end of the shed ; he
fondled and stroked it like a puppy, making us
hold it, and assuring us it was not mediant !
At 7.0 we had our dinner in the kitchen. The
farmer, his wife, and the domestique (a manservant,
whose history I will tell in a few minutes) had just
finished, and were going to clear off ; but we asked
them to stay and let us drink their health in whiskey
and soda. The farmer said this was wont to make
the domestique go ' zigzag ' ; for himself, he would
drink, not for the inherent pleasure of the whiskey,
which was a strong drink to which he was unused,
he being of the land of light wines, but to give us
pleasure ! So the usual healths were given in
94 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
Old Orkney and Perrier. Then we were told the
history of the domestique, which brought one very
close to the spirit in which France is fighting. He
had eight children in Peronne, barely ten miles the
other side of the line. Called up in September, 1914,
he was in the trenches until March, 1915, when he
was released on account of his eight children. But
by then the living line had set between them in
steel and blood, and never a word yet has he heard
of his wife and eight children, the youngest of whom
he left nine days old ! There are times when our
cause seems clouded with false motives ; but there
seemed no doubt on this score to-night, as we
watched this man in his own land, creeping up, as
it were, as near as possible to his wife and children
and home, and yet barred from his own village, and
without the knowledge even that his own dear ones
were alive. The farmer told us he had gone half
crazed. Yet he had a fine face, though furrowed
with deep lines down his forehead. ' Ten minutes
in the yard with the Germans — ah ! what would
he do ! ' And vividly he drew his hand across his
throat. But the Germans would never go back :
that was another of his opinions. No wonder he
told us he doubted the hon Diat : no wonder he
sometimes went zigzag.
The farmer was well educated, and had very in-
telligent views on the war ; one son was a captain ;
the other was also serving in some capacity. The
wife made us good coffee, but got very sleepy. I
ON THE MARCH 95
learnt she rose every morning at 4.0 a.m. to milk
the cows.
To-night wc can hear the guns. There seems a
considerable liveHness at several parts of the line,
and strange rumours of the Germans breaking
through, which I do not believe. To-morrow we
shall be within the shell-zone again."
" Feb. ist. To-day we marched to Morlancourt
and are spending the night in huts. It is very cold,
and we have a brazier made out of a biscuit tin,
but it smokes abominably. We are busy getting
trench-kit ready for the next day. From outside the
hut I can see star-lights, and hear machine-guns
tapping. It thrills like the turning up of the foot-
lights."
And it was a long act. The curtain did not fall
till June.
CHAPTER VI
THE BOIS FRANQAIS TRENCHES
THIS is a chapter of maps, diagrams, and
technicalities. There are people, I know,
who do not want maps, to whom maps
convey practically nothing. These people can skip
this chapter, and (from their point of view) they
will lose nothing. The main interest of life lies in
what is done and thought, and it does not much
matter exactly where these acts and thoughts take
place. Maps are like anatomy : to some people it
is of absorbing interest to know where our bones,
muscles, arteries and all the rest of our interior
lie ; to others these things are of no account what-
ever. Yet all are alike interested in human people.
And so, quite understanding (I think you are really
very romantic in your dislike of maps : you associate
them with the duller kind of history, and examina-
tion papers !), I bid you mapless ones farewell till
page 117, promising you (again) that you shall lose
nothing.
Now to work. We understand each other, we
map-lovers. The other folk have gone on to the
next chapter, so we can take our time.
96
r
THE BOIS FRANQAIS TRENCHES 97
Now look at Map II. The River Ancrc runs down
west of the Thiepval ridge, through Albert, and then
in a south-westerly course through Mericourt-l'abb^
down to Corbie, where it joins the Somme on its
way to Amiens. On each side of the Ancre is high
ground of about lOO metres. The high ground
between the Ancre and the Somme forms a long
tableland. There is no ridge, it is just high fiat
country, from three hundred and thirty to three
hundred and forty feet, cultivated and hedgeless.
Now look at Fricourt. It is a break in this high
ground running on the left bank of the Ancre, and
this break is caused by a nameless tributary of that
river, that joins it just west of Meaulte. And now
you will see that this little streamlet was for over
a year and a half the cause of much thought and
labour to very many men indeed : for this stream
formed the valley in which Fricourt lies ; and right
across this valley, just south of that unimportant
little village, ran for some twenty months or so
the Franco-German and later the Anglo-German
lines.
Now look at the dotted line ( ) which repre-
sents the trenches. From Thiepval down to Fricourt
they run almost due north and south ; then they run
up out of the valley on to the high ground at Bois
Fran^ais (a small copse, I suppose, once ; I have
never discovered any vestige of a tree-stump among
the shell-holes), and then abruptly run due east.
It is as though someone had appeared suddenly on
7
98 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
the corner of the shoulder at Bois Fran9ais, and
pushed them off, compeUing them to make a detour.
After five miles they manage to regain their direc-
tion and run south again.
It is these trenches at Bois Fran^ais that we held
for over four months. I may fairly claim to know
every inch of them, I think ! It is obvious that if
you are at Bois Frangais, and look north, you have
an uninterrupted view not only of both front lines
running down into Fricourt valley, but of both
lines running up on to the high ground north of
Fricourt, and a very fine view indeed of Fricourt
itself, and Fricourt wood. It is also quite clear that
from their front lines north of Fricourt the Germans
had a good view of otir front lines and communica-
tions in the valley ; but of Bois Fran^ais and our
trenches east of it they had no enfilade view, as all
our communications were on the reverse slope of
this shoulder of high ground. So as regards observa-
tion we were best off. Moreover, whereas they
could not possibly see our support lines and com-
munications at Bois Frangais, we could get a certain
amount of enfilade observation of their trenches
opposite from point 8y, where was a work called
Boute Redoubt and an artillery observation post.
The position of the artillery immediately becomes
clear, when the lie of the ground is once grasped.
For field artillery enfilade fire is far most effective,
as the trajectory is lower than that of heavy artillery.
That is to say, a whizz-bang (the name given to an
THE BOIS FRANQAIS TRENCHES 99
i8-lb. shell) more or less skims along the ground
and comes at you ; whereas howitzers fire up in
the air, and the shell rushes down on top of you.
To be exphcit at the risk of boring : —
If a battery of eighteen-pounders can fire up a
trench like this : —
[a) n=D ~ - _ _
it has far more effect against the nine men in that
trench than if it fires like this :
{h) r=o >
The same apphes of course to howitzers, but as
howitzers drop shells down almost perpendicularly,
they can be used with great effect traversing along
a trench, that is to say, getting the exact range of
the trench in sketch (6), and dropping shells methodi-
cally from right to left, or left to right, so many to
each fire-bay, and dodging about a bit, and going
back on to a bit out of turn so that the enemy cannot
tell where the next coal-box is coming. Oh ! it is
a great game this for the actors, but not for the
unwilling audience.
So you can see now why a battery of field artillery
100 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
was stationed in the gully called Gibraltar, and
another just west of Albert (at B) : each of these
batteries could bring excellent enfilade fire on to
the German trenches. There was another battery
that fired from the place I have marked C, and
another at D. The howitzers lived in all sorts of
secret places, as far back as Morlancourt some of
them. One never worried about them. They knew
their own business. Once, in June, on our way into
the trenches we halted close by a battery at E,
and I looked into one of the gun-pits and saw the
terrible monster sitting with its long nose in the
air. And I saw the great shells (it was a 9-6) waiting
in rows. But I felt like an interloper, and fled at
the approach of a gunner. All these howitzers you
see firing on the Somme films, we never saw or
thought about ; only we loved to hear their shells
whistHng and " griding " (if there is no such word,
I cannot help it : there is an " r " and a " d " in
the sound anyway !) over our head, and falling
" crump," " crump," " crump " along the German
support trenches. There were a lot of batteries in
the Bois des Tallies ; the woods were full of them,
and grew fuller and fuller. I do not know what they
all were.
As one brigade contains four battalions, we almost
invariably had two battahons in the line, and two
" in billets." So it was usually " six days in and
six days out." During these six days out we also
invariably supplied four working-parties per com-
THE BOIS FRANCAIS TRENCHES 101
pany, which lasted nine hours from the time of
falhng in outside company headquarters to dis-
missing after marching back. Still, it was " billets."
One slept uninterruptedly, and with equipment and
boots off. Now we were undeniably lucky in being
invariably (from February to June, 1916) billeted
in Morlancourt, which, as you can see from the map,
is situated in a regular cup with high ground all
round it. I have put in the 50-metre contour line
to show exactly how the roads all run down into it
from every quarter. It was a cosy spot, and a very
jolly thing after that long, long weary grind up
from Meaulte at the end of a weary six days in, to
look down on the snug little village waiting for you
below. For once over the hill and " swinging "
down into Morlancourt, one became, as it were,
cut off from the war suddenly and completely. It
was somewhat Uke shutting the door on a stormy
night : everything outside was going on just the
same, but with it was shut out also a wearing,
straining tension of body and mind.
Yes, we were very lucky in being billeted at Mor-
lancourt. It was just too far off to be worth shelling,
whereas Bray was shelled regularly almost every
day. So was Meaulte. And there were brigades
billeted in both Bray and Meaulte. There were
troops in tents in the Bois des Tailles, and this too
was sometimes shelled.
Now just look, please, at the two thick lines,
which represent alternative routes to the trenches.
102 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
We were always able to relieve by day, thanks to
the rolling nature of the country. (Where the line
is dotted, this represents a trench.) We always used
to go by the route through Meaulte at one time,
until they took to sheUing the road at the point I
have marked Z ; whether they could see us from
an observation post up la-Boiselle way, or whether
they spotted us by observation balloon or aeroplane,
one cannot say. But latterly we always used the
route by the Bois des Tallies and Gibraltar. In
both cases we had to cross the high ground S.W.
of point 71 by trench, but on arrival at that point
we were again in a valley and out of observation.
All along this road were a series of dug-outs, and
here were companies in reserve, R.E. headquarters,
R.A.M.C. dressing-station, field kitchens, stores,
etc. And here the transport brought up rations
every evening via Bray. One could walk about
here, completely secure from view ; but latterly
they took to shelling it, and it was not a healthy
spot then. It was also enfiladed occasionally by
long-range machine-gun fire. But on the whole it
was a good spot, and one had a curious sensation
being able to walk about on an open road within a
thousand yards of the Germans. The dug-outs
called " 71 North " were the best. The bank
sloped up very steeply from the road, thus protect-
ing the dug-outs along it from anything but shell-
fire of very high trajectory. And this the Germans
never used. However, one did not want to walk
THE BOIS FRAN^AIS TRENCHES 103
too far along the road, for it led round the corner
into full view of Fricourt at X. There was a trench
at the side of the road that ought to be hopped
down into, but it could easily be missed, and there
was no barrier across the road ! I saw a motor-
cychst dash right along to the corner once, and
return very speedily when he found himself gazing
full view at Fricourt !
Map III is an enlargement of the area in Map II,
and gives details of our trenches and the German
trenches opposite. I wish I could convey the sense
of intimacy with which I am filled when I look at
this map. It is something like the feelings I should
ascribe to a farmer looking at a map of his property,
every inch of which he knows by heart ; every
field, every copse, every lane, every hollow and hill
are intimate things to him. With every corner he
has some association ; every tree cut down, every
fence repaired, every road made up, every few
hundred yards of shaw grubbed up, every acre of
orchard enclosed and planted — all these he can call
back to memory at his will. So do I know every
corner, every turning in these trenches ; every
traverse has its peculiar familiarity, very often
its peculiar history. This traverse was built the
night after P 's death ; this trench was dug
because " 75 Street " was so marked down by the
enemy rifle-grenades ; another was a terrible straight
trench till we built those traverses in it ; another
104 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
was a morass until we boarded it. How well I
remember being half buried by a canister at the
corner of "78 Street " ; and the night the mine
blew in all the trench between the Fort and the
Loop ; what an awful dug-out that was at Trafalgar-
Square ; how we loathed the straightness of Watling
Street. And so on, ad infinitum. We were in those
trenches for over four months, and I know them as
one knows the creakings of the doors at home, the
subtle smell of the bath-room, the dusty atmosphere
of the box-room, or the lowness of the cellar door.
Particularly intimate are the recollections of dug-
outs, with their good or bad conveniences in the
way of beds and tables, their beams that smote you
on the head as regularly as clockwork, or their
peculiarly musty smell. One dug-out invariably
smelt of high rodent ; another of sand-bag, nothing
but sand-bag.
From February, then, to June we kept on going
into these trenches drawn on Map III, and then
back to Morlancourt for rest and working-parties,
all as regular as clockwork. Once or twice the actual
front line held by our battalion was altered, so that
I have been in the trenches all along from the
Cemetery (down in the valley) to the end of the
craters opposite Danube Trench. But every time
except twice my company held part of the trench
between 83 B (the end of the craters) and the Lewis
gun position to the right of 76 Street. The usual
distribution of the battalion was as follows : —
THE BOIS FRANCAIS TRENCHES 105
A Company. From 80 A to L. G. (Lewis gun)
on right of 76.
B „ Maple Redoubt.
C „ 71 North.
D ,, L. G. on right of 76 to "j^ Street.
(After three days A and B, and C and D,
reheved each other.)
Battahon Headquarters, -v
Headquarter Bombers, I Maple
M.O. and H.Q. Stretcher-bearers j Redoubt.
R.S.M. i
Maple Redoubt was what is known as a " strong
point." In case of an enemy attack piercing our
front line, the company in Maple Redoubt held out
at all costs to the last man, even if the enemy got
right past and down the hill. There was a dug-out
which was provisioned full up with bully-beef and
water (in empty petrol cans) ready for this emer-
gency. There was a certain amount of barbed-wire
put out in front of the trenches to N., W., and E. ;
and there were two Lewis-gun positions at A and
B. Really it was not a bad httle place, although
the " Defences of Maple Redoubt " were always
looked on by us as rather more of a big joke than
anything. No one ever really took seriously the
thought of the enemy coming over and reaching
Maple Redoubt. Raid the front line he was Uable
to do at any moment ; but attack on such a big
scale as to come right through, no, no one really
106 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
ever (beneath the rank of battalion commander,
anyway) worried about that. Still, if he did, there
was the redoubt anyway ; and there was another
called " Redoubt A " on the hill facing us, as one
looked from Maple Redoubt across the smoke
rising from dug-outs which could just not be seen
under the bank at 71 North. Here was rumoured
to be bully-beef and water also, and the Machine-gun
Corps had some positions in it which they visited
occasionally ; but even a notice " No one allowed
this way," failed to tempt me to explore its in-
terior. One saw it, traced out on the hill, from
Maple Redoubt, and there I have no doubt it still
is, with its bully-beef intact and its water a little
stale !
So much for Maple Redoubt. In case of attack,
as I have said, it was a strong point that must
hold out at all costs, while the company at 71 North
came up to Rue Albert, and would support either
of the front companies as the CO. directed. The
front companies of course held the front line to the
last man. Meanwhile, the two battalions in billets
would be marching up from Morlancourt, to the
high ground above Redoubt A (that is, just east of
D on Map H). Up there were a series of entrenched
" works," known as the " intermediate line." (The
" second line " ran a little north of point 90, N.E.
of Morlancourt. But no one took that seriously,
anyway.) The battalions marching up from billets
might have to hold these positions, or, what was
THE BOIS FRAN^AIS TRENCHES 107
more likely, be ordered to counter-attack immedi-
ately. Such was the defence scheme.
" Six days in billets : three days in support.
Not particularly hard, that sounds," I can hear
someone say. I tried to disillusion people in an
earlier chapter about the easiness of the " rest " in
billets, owing to the incessant working-parties.
These were even more incessant during these four
months. Let me say a few words then, also, about
life in support trenches. I admit that for officers
it was not always an over-strenuous time ; but
look at Tommy's ordinary programme : —
This would be a typical day, say, in April.
4 a.m. Stand to, until it got light enough to clean
your rifle ; then clean it.
About 5 a.m. Get your rifle inspected, and turn
in again.
6.30 a.m. Turn out to carry breakfast up to
company in front Une. (Old Kent Road very
muddy after rain. A heavy dixie to be carried
from top of We5rmouth Avenue, up via Trafalgar
Square, and 76 Street to the platoon holding
the trench at the Loop.)
7.45 a.m. Get your own breakfast.
9 a.m. Turn out for working-party ; spend
morning fiUing sandbags for building traverses
in Maple Redoubt.
11.30 a.m. Carry dinner up to front company.
Same as 6.30 a.m.
I p.m. Get your own dinner.
108 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
I to 4 p.m. (With luck) rest.
4 p.m. Carry tea up to front company.
5 p.m. Get your own tea.
5.15 to 7.15 p.m. (With luck) rest.
7.15 p.m. Clean rifle.
7.30 p.m. Stand to. Rifle inspected.
Jones puts his big ugly boot out suddenly,
just after you have finished cleaning rifle, and
upsets it. Result — mud all over barrel and
nose-cap.
8.30 p.m. Stand down. Have to clean rifle again
and show platoon sergeant.
9 p.m. Turn out for working-party till 12 mid-
night in front line.
12 midnight. Hot soup.
12.15 3-"^- Dug-out at last till
4 a.m. Stand to.
And so on for three days and nights. This is
really quite a moderate programme : it is one that
you would aim at for your men. But there are
disturbing elements that sometimes compel you to
dock a man's afternoon rest, for instance. A couple
of canisters block Watling Street ; you must send
a party of ten men and an N.C.O. to clear it at once :
or you suddenly have to supply a party to carry
" footballs " up to Rue Albert for the trench-
mortar man. The Adjutant is sorry; he could not
let you know before ; but they have just come up
to the Citadel, and must be unloaded at once. So
THE BOIS FRANgAIS TRENCHES 109
you have to find the men for this on the spur of
the moment. And so it goes on night and day.
Oh, it's not all rum and sleep, is life in Maple
Redoubt.
Three days and nights in support, and then comes
the three days in the front Hne.
Now we will take it that " B " Company is hold-
ing from 80 A to the Lewis-gun position to the right
of 76 Street. You will notice at once that almost
the whole of No Man's Land in front of this sector
of trenches is a chain of mine craters. No one can
have much idea of a crater until he actually sees
one. I can best describe it as a hollow like a quarry
or chalk hole about fifty yards in diameter and some
forty or fifty feet deep. (They vary in size, of
course, but that is about the average.) The sides,
which are steepish, and vary in angle between
thirty and sixty degrees, are composed of a very
fine thin soil, which is, in point of fact, a thick
sediment of powdered soil that has returned to
earth after a tempestuous ascent into the sky. A
large mine always causes a " lip " above the ground
level, which appears in section somewhat like
this :—
leve(.
There is usually water in the bottom of the
deeper craters. When a series of craters is formed,
110 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
running into one another, you get a very uneven
floor that appears in lengthwise section thus : —
-U)/t\
The dotted hne is the ground level : the uneven
line is the course that would be taken by a man
walking along the bottom of the chain of craters,
and keeping in the centre. Actually, of course,
(on patrol) one would not keep in the centre where
the crater contained water, but would skirt the
water by going to one side of it. The " bridges "
are important, as they are naturally the easiest
way across the craters ; a bombing patrol, for
instance, could crawl over a bridge, without having
to go right down to the bottom level, and (which
is more important) will not have a steep climb up
over very soft and spongy soil. These bridges are
the " lips " of the larger craters where they join
the smaller ; looking at a crater-chain in plan
X is a " bridge," whereas Y and Z are " Ups "
rising above ground level.
THE BOIS FRANgAIS TRENCHES 111
This crater-chain being understood, the system
of sentries is easily grasped. Originally, before
mining commenced, our front line ran (roughly)
from left to right along Rue Albert up 80 A Street
and along to the top of 76 Street in a straight line.
Then began the great game of mining under the
enemy parapet and blowing him up ; and its corol-
lary countermining, or blowing up the enemy's
mine galleries before he reached your parapet.
Such is the game as played underground by the
tunnelling companies, R.E. To the infantry belongs
the work (if not blown up) of consohdating the
crater, whether made by your or an enemy mine,
that is to say, of seizing your side of the crater and
guarding it by bombing-posts in such a way as to
prevent the enemy from doing anything except
hold his side of the crater.
(^errncxn -^ront" line
Our tronl* line
For instance, take a single crater, caused by us
blowing up the German gallery before it reaches
our parapet. If we do nothing, the enemy digs a
trench into the crater at A, and can get into the
crater any time he likes and bomb our front hne.
112 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
and return to his trench unseen. This, of course,
never happens, as we dig a sap into the crater from
our side, and the result is stale-mate ; each side
can see into the crater, so neither can go into it.
That is all. 83 B, 81 A, the Matterhorn sap,
the Loop, the Fort — they are all saps up to crater-
edges, in some cases joined up along the edge (as
between 83 B and 83 A, or at the Loop and the
Fort.) And these saps are held by bombing-posts.
Where there are no craters in front (as, for instance,
between the Fort and the Loop), there the trench is
held by sentry groups in the ordinary way. The
most important bombing-posts are at the " bridges,"
which are the points that most want guarding.
Each platoon has so many posts to " find " men
for. No. 5 Platoon has three posts between the
Lewis-gun position and the top of 76 Street ; No. 6
finds two in the Fort and one between the Fort
and the Loop ; there is another post before you
reach the Loop, found by No. 7, who also finds
two in the Loop itself ; while No. 8 finds the
Matterhorn post and the top of 80 A. All these
posts are composed of one bomber, who has a box
of bombs with him and his rifle without bayonet
fixed, and one bayonet man. There is no special
structure about a " post " : it is just the spot in
the trench where the sentries are placed. Some-
times one or two posts could be dispensed with by
day, if one post could with a periscope watch the
ground in front of both. The sentry groups are
THE BOIS FRAN^AIS TRENCHES 118
relieved every two hours by the platoon N.C.O.
on trench duty. There is always an N.C.O. on trench
duty, going the rounds of his sentry groups, in every
platoon ; and one officer going round the groups
in the company. Thus is secured the endless chain
of unwinking eyes that stretches from Dunkirk to
Switzerland.
There were two Lewis guns to every company.
One had a position at the Fort, covering the ground
between the Fort and the Loop ; the other was
just to the right of 80 A, where it had a good position
sweeping the craters. The Lewis-gun teams found
their sentries independently of the platoons, and
had their dug-outs. A nice compact little affair
was a Lewis-gun team ; always very snug and self-
contained.
Company Headquarters were at Trafalgar Square,
though later we changed to a dug-out half-way up
76 Street. Each platoon had a dug-out about fifty
yards behind the front line, and as far as possible
one arranged to get the men a few hours' sleep in
them every day ; but only a certain percentage at a
time. There were four stretcher-bearers and two
signallers also at Trafalgar Square. Also a per-
manent wiring-party had its quarters here, a cor-
poral and five men ; they made up " concertina "
or " gooseberry " wire by day, and were out three
or four hours every night putting it out. They were,
of course, exempt from other platoon duties. Each
platoon had a pioneer to attend to sanitary arrange-
114 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
merits, and other odd jobs such as fetching up soup ;
and each platoon had an orderly ready to take
messages. At Company Headquarters, besides the
officers' servants, were the company orderly, and
company officers' cook. An officer on trench duty
was accompanied by his servant as orderly.
This was the distribution of the company in the
front line. Every morning from 9 to 12 all men
not on sentry worked at repairing and improving
the trenches ; and the same for four hours during
the night. Work done to strengthen the parapet
can only be done by night. Every night wire was
put out. Every night a patrol went out. Every
day one " stood to " arms for an hour before dawn,
and an hour after dusk. And day and night there
was an intermittent stinging and buzzing of black-
winged instruments between the opposing trenches.
Of shells I have already spoken ; next in deadliness
were rifle-grenades, which are bombs with a rod
attachment that is put down the barrel of an ordin-
ary rifle. Four of these rifles are stood in a rack
fixed to the ground, and fired by a string from a
few yards away, at a very high trajectory. They
are a very deadly weapon, as you cannot see them
dropping on to you. Then there is a multiform
genus called " trench-mortar," being projectiles of
all kinds and shapes lobbed over from close range.
The canister was the most loathed. It was simply
a tin oil-can, the size of a lady's muff (large) ; one
heard a thud, and watched the beast rising, rising,
THE BOTS FRANQAIS TRENCHES 115
then stationary, it seemed, in mid-air, and then
come toppHng down, down, down on top of one
with a crash — three seconds' silence — and then a
most colossal explosion, blowing everything in its
vicinity to atoms. These canisters were loathed by
the men with a most personal and intense aversion.
Yet they were really not nearly so dangerous as
rifle-grenades, as one had time to dodge them very
often, unless enfiladed in a communication trench.
They were, moreover, very local in their effects. A
shell has sphnters that spread far and wide ; a
trench-mortar is a clumsy monster with a thin
skin, no sphnters, and an abominable, noisy, vulgar
way of making the most of itself. " Sausages "
were another but milder form of the vulgar trench-
mortar ; aerial torpedoes were daintier people with
wings, who looked so cherubic as they came sailing
over, that one almost forgot their deadly stinging
powers ; they, too, were a species of trench-mortar.
It is natural to write lightly of these things ; yet
they were no light matters. They were the instru-
ments of death that took their daily toll of lives.
In this chapter describing the system and routine
of ordinary trench warfare, I have tried to prepare
the canvas for several pictures I have drawn in
bold bare lines ; now I am putting in a wash of
colour, the atmosphere of Death.
Sometimes we forgot it in the interest of the
present activity ; sometimes we saw it face to face,
without a qualm ; but always it was there with
116 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
its relentless overhanging presence, dulling our
spirits, wearing out our lives. The papers are
always full of Tommy smiling : Bairnsfather has
immortalised his indomitable humour. Yes, it is
true. We laugh, we smile. But for an hour of
laughter, there are how many hours of weariness,
strain, and grim agony ! It is great that Tommy's
laughter has been immortaHsed ; but do not forget
that its greatness lies in this, that it was uttered
beneath the canopy of ever-impending Death.
CHAPTER VII
MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS
IT must not be imagined that I at once grasped
all the essential details of our trench system,
as I have tried to put them concisely in the
preceding chapter. On the contrary, it was only
very gradually that I accumulated my intimate
knowledge of our maze of trenches, only by degrees
that I learnt the lie of the land, and only by per-
sonal patrolling that I learnt the interior economy
of the craters. At first the front hne, with its loops
and bombing-posts, and portions " patrolled only,"
its sand-bag dumps, its unexpected visions of
R.E.'s scurrying like bolted rabbits from mine-
shafts, its sudden jerk round a corner that brought
you in full view of the German parapet across a
crater that made you gaze fascinated several
seconds before you realised that you should be
stooping low, as here was a bad bit of trench that
wanted deepening at once and had not been cleared
properly after being blown in last night — all this,
I say, was at first a most perplexing labyrinth.
It was only gradually that I solved its mysteries,
and discovered an order in its complexity.
117
118 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
I will give a few more extracts from my diary,
some of which seem to me now delightfully naive !
Here they are, though.
" 2nd Feb., 1916. In the trenches. Everything
very quiet. We are in support, in a place called
Maple Redoubt, on the reverse slope of a big ridge.
Good dug-outs {sic), and a view behind, over a big
expanse of chalk-downs, which is most exhilarating.
A day with blue sky and a tingle of frost. Being
on the reverse slope, you can walk about anywhere,
and so can see everything. Have just been up in
the front trenches, which are over the ridge, and a
regular, or rather very irregular, rabbit-warren.
The Boche generally only about thirty to forty
yards away. The trenches are dry, that is the
glorious thing. Dry. Just off to pow-wow to the
new members of my platoon."
Here I will merely remark that the " good "
dug-out in which we were living was blown in by
a 4-2 shell exactly four days later, killing one
officer and wounding the other two badly. With
regard to the state of the trenches, it was dry
weather, and " when they were dry they were dry,
and when they were wet they were wet ! "
" 3rd Feb. Another beautiful February morn-
ing. Slept quite well, despite rats overhead.
O'Brien and Dixon awfully dull and heavy ; can't
MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 119
think why. Everything outside is full of life ;
there is a crispness in the air, and a delightful sharp
shadow and light contrast as you look up Maple
Redoubt.
Meditations on coldness, and how it unmans
— on hunger, and how it weakens — on the art of
feeding and warming, and how women realise this,
while men do not usually know there is any art in
keeping house at all !
Meditations, too, on the stupidity, slowness, and
clumsiness of officers' servants.
Dixon's snores make me bucked with life ; so,
too, this same clumsiness of the servants. Lewis
came in just now. ' Why are you waiting, Lewis ? '
I asked. ' I thought Watson was waiting to-day.'
(This after a great strafing of servants for general
stupidity and incompetence.) ' None of the others
dared come in, sir,' he replied, in his high piping
voice, and a broad grin on his face. Oh ! they are
good fellows ! Why be fed up with life ? Why
long faces ? Long faces, these are the bad things
of hfe, the things to fight against. ..."
So did my vision of the Third Army School bear
fruit, I see now !
" Philosophy from the trenches. Does it cover
everything ? Does it explain the fellows I passed
this morning being carried to the Aid Post, one
with blood and orange iodine all over his face, and
120 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
the other wounded in both legs ? It always comes
as a surprise when the bombs and shells produce
wounds and death. . . .
Watched a mine go up this evening — great
yellow-brown mass of smoke, followed by a beauti-
ful under-cloud of orange-pink that steamed up in
a soft creamy way. No firing and shelling followed
as at Givenchy. . . .
Take over from ' A ' to-morrow morning.
10 p.m. Great starlight. Jupiter and Venus
both up, and the Great Bear and Orion glittering
hard and clean in the steely sky. I wish I had a
Homer, I am sure he has just one perfect epithet
for Orion on a night like this. I shall read Homer
in a new light after these times. I begin to under-
stand the spirit of the Homeric heroes ; it was all
words, words, words before. Now I see. Billet
life — where is that in the Iliad ? In the tents, of
course. And the eating and drinking, the ' word
that puts heart into men,' the cool stolid facing
of death, all those gruesome details of wounds and
weapons, all is being enacted here every day exactly
as in the Homeric age. Human nature has not
altered.
And did not Homer tell, too, how utterly ' fed
up ' they were with it all ? Can one not read
between the lines and see, besides the glamour of
physical courage, the strain, the weariness, the
' fed-upness ' of them all ! I think so. ' NoVro? ' is
MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 121
a word I remember so well. They were all longing
for the day of their return. As here, the big fights
were few and far between ; and as here, there were
the months and years of waiting.
And on them, too, the stars looked down, wink-
ing alike at Greeks and Trojans ; just as to-night
thousands of German and British faces, dull-witted
or sharp, sour-faced or smihng, sad or happy, are
gazing up and wondering if there is any wisdom in
the world yet.
Four thousand years ago ? And all the time
the stars in the Great Bear have been hurtling
apart at thousands of miles an hour, and the human
eye sees no difference. No wonder they wink
at us. . . .
And our mothers, and wives . . . the women-
folk— Euripides understood their views on war.
Ten years they waited. . . .
Must go to bed. D these scuffling rats."
Frequently I found my thoughts flying back
through the years, and more especially on starlit
nights, or on a breathless spring evening, to the
Greeks and Romans. Life out here was so primi-
tive ; so much a matter of eating and drinking,
and digging, and sleeping, and so full of the ele-
ments, of cold, and frost, and wind, and rain ;
there were so many definite and positive physical
goods and bads, that the barrier of an unreal
civilisation was completely swept away. Under
122 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
the stars and in a trench you were as good as any
Homeric warrior ; but you were Httle better. And
so you felt you understood him. And here I will
add that it was especially at sunset that the pas-
sionate desire to live would sometimes surge up,
so intense, so clamorous, that it swept every other
feeling clean aside for the time.
But to return to Maple Redoubt, or rather to
Gibraltar, where the next entry in my diary was
written.
" 6th Feb. Rather an uncomfortable dug-out
in Gibraltar. Yesterday was a divine day. I sat
up in ' the Fort * most of the day, watching the
bombardment. Blue sky, on the top of a high
chalk down ; larks singing ; and a real sunny dance
in the air. We watched four aeroplanes sail over,
amid white puffs of shrapnel ; and a German
'plane came over. I could see the black crosses very
plainly with my glasses. Most godlike it must have
been up there on such a morning. I felt very pleased
with life, and did two sketches, one of Sawyer,
another of Richards. . . .
A dull thud, and then ' there goes another,'
shouts someone. It reminds me of Bill the lizard
coming out of the chimney-pot in Alice in Wonder-
land. Everyone gazes and waits for the crash !
Toppling through the sky comes a big tin oil-can,
followed immediately by another ; both fall and
explode with a tremendous din, sending up a fifty-
MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 123
foot spurt of black earth and flying debris, while
down the wind comes the scud of sand-bag fluff
and the smell of powder. This alternated with the
4-2's, which come over with a scream and wait
politely a second or two before bursting so inele-
gantly." (I seem to have got mixed up a bit here :
it was usually the canisters that " waited.")
" The mining is a great mystery to me at present.
One part of the trench is only patrolled, as the
Bochc may ' blow ' there at any moment. I must
say it is an uncomfortable feeling, this liability to
sudden projection skywards ! The first night I
had a sort of nightmare all the time, and kept
waking up, and thinking about a mine going up
under one. The second night I was too tired to
have nightmares.
The rats swarm. I woke up last night, and
saw one sitting on Edwards, licking its whiskers.
Then it ran on to the box by the candle. It was
a pretty brown fellow, rather attractive, I thought.
I felt no repulsion whatever at sight of it. . . .
The front trenches are a 77iaze. I cannot dis-
entangle all the loops and saps ; and now we are
cut off from ' C,' as the front trench is all blown in ;
one has to have a connecting patrol that goes via
Rue Albert. A very weird affair. The only conso-
lation is that the Boche would be i7iore lost if he
got in !
I cannot help feeling that ' B ' company has
124 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
been very lucky. We were in Maple Redoubt,
Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday ; everything
was quite quiet with us, but ' D ' had seven casual-
ties in the front trench. On Friday we relieved
' A,' and all Saturday the enemy bombarded a spot
just behind our company's left, putting over 4-2's
and canisters all day long from 9.0 a.m. onwards,
and absolutely smashing up our trenches there.
Then Trafalgar Square has been rather a hot shop :
two of our own whizz-bangs fell short there, and
several rifle grenades fell very close — also, sphnters
of the 4-2's came humming round, ending with little
plops quite close. O'Brien picked up a large
splinter that fell in the trench right outside the
dug-out. Again, at ' stand-down,' when Dixon,
Clark, Edwards, and I were standing talking to-
gether at the top of 76 Street, two canisters fell most
alarmingly near us, about ten yards behind, covering
us with dirt. Yet we have not had a single casualty.
To-day we were to have been relieved by the
Manchesters at midday, but this morning at ' stand
to ' we heard the time had been altered to 8.0 a.m.
' B ' was duly relieved, and No. 5 Platoon had just
changed gum-boots, while 6, 7, and 8 were sitting
at the corner of Maple Redoubt enthralled in the
same process, when over came two canisters, one
smashing in Old Kent Road, down which we had
just come, and the other falling right into an ' A '
Company dug-out, twenty yards to my left, killing
two men and wounding three others, one probably
MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 125
mortally. And now I have just had the news that
the Manchesters have had twenty-three casualties
to-day, including three officers, their R.S.M., and
a company sergeant-major."
As I read some of these sentences, true in every
detail as they are, I cannot help smiling. For it
was no " bombardment " that took place on our
left all day ; it was merely the Germans potting
one of our trench-mortar positions ! And Trafalgar
Square was really very quiet, that first time in.
But what I notice most is the way in which I record
the fall of individual canisters and rifle grenades,
even if they were twenty yards away ! Never a
six days in, latterly, that we did not have to clear
Old Kent Road and Watling Street two or three
times ; and we used to fire off a hundred rifle
grenades a day very often, and received as many
in return always. And the record of casualties one
did not keep. We were lucky, it is true. Once, and
once only, after, did " B " Company go in and
come out without a casualty. Those first two days
in Maple Redoubt, when " everything was quiet,"
were the most deceitful harbingers of the future that
could have been imagined. " Why long faces ? "
I could write. The Manchesters had a ruder but
a truer introduction to the Bois Frangais trenches,
and especially to Maple Redoubt. For the dug-
outs were abominable ; not one was shell-proof ;
and there was no parados or traverse for a hun-
126 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
dred and fifty yards. The truth of the matter was
that these trenches had been some of the quietest
in the hnc ; for some reason or other, when
our Division took them over, they immediately
changed face about, and took upon themselves the
task of growing in a steady relentless crescendo into
one of the hottest sectors in the line.
On the 22nd of February the Germans raided our
trenches on the left opposite Fricourt. They did
not get much change out of it. I can remember at
least four raids close on our left or right during
those four months ; they never actually came
over on our front, but we usually came in for the
bombardment. The plan is to isolate the sector
to be raided by an intense bombardment on that
sector, and on the sectors on each side ; to " lift "
the barrage, or curtain of fire, at a given moment off
the front line of the sector raided " what time "
(as the old phrase goes) they come over, enter the
trench, if they can, make a few prisoners, and get
back quickly. All the while the sectors to right
and left are being bombarded heavily. It was this
isolating bombardment that our front line was
receiving, while we were left unmolested in 71
North. All this I did not know at the time. Here
is my record of it.
" 25 Feb., 1916. It is snowing hard. We are in
a very comfortable tubular dug-out in 71 North.
This dug-out is the latest pattern, being on the
twopenny-tube model ; very warm, and free from
MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 127
draughts. It is not shell-proof, but then shells
never seem to come near here.
Let me try and record the raid on our left on
the 22nd, before I forget it.
The Manchesters were in the front line and
Maple Redoubt. During the afternoon the Boche
started putting heavies on to Maple Redoubt,
and the corner of Canterbury Avenue. ' Bad
luck on the Manchesters again,' we all agreed —
and turned in for tea. There was a wonderful
good fire going.
' By Jove, they are going it,' I said, as we sat
down and Gray brought in the teapot. Thud !
Thud ! Thud — thud ! We simply had to go out
and watch. Regular coal-boxes, sending up great
columns of mud, and sphnters humming and
splashing right over us, a good hundred yards or
more. ' Better keep inside,' from Dixon.
We had tea, and things seemed to quiet down.
Then about six o'clock the bombardment got
louder, and our guns woke up like fun. ' Vee-
bm . . . vee-bm ' from our whizz-bangs going over,
and then the machine-guns began on our left.
Simultaneously, in came Richards (Dixon's ser-
vant) with an excited air. ' Gas,' he exclaimed.
Instinctively, I felt for my gas helmet. Meanwhile
Dixon had gone outside. ' Absurd,' he said in a
quiet voice. ' The wind's wrong. Who brought
that message ? '
Then up came a telephone orderly. I heard
128 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
him running on the hard road. ' Stand to,' he said
breathlessly, and Dixon went off to the 'phone
with him. Nicolson appeared in a gas helmet.
I was looking for my pipe, but could not find it.
Then at last I went out without it.
Outside it was getting dark. It was a fairly
nippy air. The bombardment was going strong.
All the sky was flickering, and our guns were
screaming over. ' Crump, crump,' the Boche
shells were bursting up by Maple Redoubt. ' Scream,
scream,' went our guns back ; and right overhead
our big guns went griding.
All this I noticed gradually. My first impres-
sion was the strong smell of gas helmets in the
cold air. The gas alarm had spread, and some
of the men had their helmets on. I felt undecided.
I simply did not know, whether the men should
wear them or not. What was happening ? I
wished Dixon would come back. Ah ! there he
was. What news ?
' I can't get through,' he said, ' but we shall get
a message all right if necessary.'
' What's happening ? ' I asked. ' Do you think
they are coming over.'
' No. It won't last long, I expect. Still, just
let's see if the men have got their emergency rations
with them.'
A few had not, and were sent into the dug-outs
for them. Gas helmets were ordered back into
their satchels.
MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 129
' No possibility of gas,' said Dixon ; ' wind's
dead south.'
I was immensely bucked now. There was a
feehng of tenseness and bracing-up. I felt the
importance of essentials — ^rifles and bayonets in
good order — the men fit, and able to run. This
was the real thing, somehow.
I made Lewis go in and get my pipe. I found
I had no pouch, and stuffed loose baccy in my
pocket.
I realised I had not thought out what I would
do in case of attack. I did not know what was
happening. I was glad Dixon was there. . . .
It was great, though, to hear the continuous
roar of the cannonade, and the machine-guns
rapping, not for five minutes, but all the time.
That I think was the most novel sound of all. No
news. That was a new feature. A Manchester
oflficer came up and said all their communications
were cut with the left.
I was immensely bucked, especially with my
pipe. Our servants were good friends to have
behind us, and Dixon was a man in his element.
The men were all cool. ' Germans have broken
through,' I heard one man say. ' Where ? ' said
someone rather excitedly. ' In the North Sea,'
was the stolid reply.
At last the cannonade developed into a roar
on our left, and we realised that any show was
there, and not on our sector. Then up came the
9
130 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
quartermaster with some boots for Dixon and me,
and we all went into the dug-out, where was a
splendid fire. And we stayed there, and certain
humorous remarks from the quartermaster sud-
denly turned my feelings, and I felt that the ten-
sion was gone, the thing was over ; and that
outside the bombardment was slackening. In half
an hour it was ' stand down ' at 7.40.
I was immensely bucked. I knew I should be
all right now in an attack. And the cannonade
at night was a magnificent sight. Of course we
had not been shelled, though some whizz-bangs
had been fired fifty yards behind us just above
' Redoubt A,' trying for the battery just over the
hill.
My chief impression was, ' This is the real thing.'
You must know your men. They await clear
orders, that is all. It was dark. I remember
thinking of Brigade and Division behind, invisible,
seeing nothing, yet alone knowing what was happen-
ing. No news, that was interesting. An entirely
false rumour came along, ' All dug-outs blown in
in Maple Redoubt.'
I had sent Evans to Bray to try and buy coal :
he returned in the middle of the bombardment
with a long explanation of why he had been unable
to get it.
' Afterwards,' I said. Somehow coal could wait.
All the while I have been writing this, there is
a regular blizzard outside."
MORE FIRST IMPRESSIONS 131
Such is my record of my first bombardment.
The Manchcsters, who were in the front line,
suffered rather heavily, but not in Maple Redoubt,
No dug-outs were smashed in at all there, though
Canterbury Avenue was blocked in two places,
and Old Kent Road in one. The Germans came
over from just north of Fricourt, but only a very
few reached our trenches, and of them about a
dozen were made prisoners, and the rest killed.
It was a " bad show " from the enemy point of
view.
And now I will leave my diary. These first im-
pressions are interesting enough, but later the
entries became more and more spasmodic, and
usually introspective. The remaining chapters
are not exactly, though very nearly, chronological.
From February 6th to March 8th I was Sniping
and Intelligence officer to the battalion. Chapters
VIII, IX, and XII describe incidents in that period.
Then on March 8th Captain Dixon was transferred
as Second-in-Command to our th Battalion,
and on that date I took over the command of
"B" Company, which I held until I was wounded
on the 7th of June. These were the three months
in which I learnt the strain of responsibility as
well as the true tragedy of this war.
During all these four months I was fortunate
in having as a commanding officer a really great
soldier. The CO. had inaugurated his arrival by
a vigorous emphasis of the following principle :
132 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" No Man's Land belongs to US ; if the Boche
dare show his face in it, he's going to be d — d sorry
for it. We are top-dogs, and if there is any strafing,
the last word must always be ours." Such was
the policy of the nian behind me during those
four months. Meanwhile, from eight to midnight
every night, trenches were being deepened, the
parapet thickened, and fire-steps and traverses being
put in the front line, which had hitherto been a
maze of hasty improvisations ; barbed wire was
put out at an unprecedented pace, and patrols were
going out every night. If things went wrong, there
was the devil to pay ; but if things went well, one
was left entirely unmolested ; and if there was a
bombardment on, the orders came quick and clear.
And any company commander will know that those
three qualities in a commanding officer are worth
almost anything.
CHAPTER VIII
SNIPING
THE snow was coming down in big white
flakes, whirling and dancing against a grey
sky. I shivered as I looked out from the
top of the dug-out steps in Maple Redoubt. It was
half-past seven, a good hour since the snipers had
reported to me before going to their posts. It was
quite dark then, for a sniper must always be up on
his post a good hour before dawn to catch the
enemy working a few minutes too late. It is so
easy to miss those first faint glimmerings of twilight
when you are just finishing off an interesting piece
of wiring in "No Man's Land." I speak from
experience. For so a sniper got me.
" U — u — u — ^gh," I shuddered, " it's no good
keeping the men on in this " ; so, putting my
whiskey-bottle full of rum in my haversack, I set
off up Old Kent Road to visit my posts and with-
draw the men pro tcm. I expected to find the
fellows unutterably cold, shrivelled up, and bored.
To my surprise, at No. i post Thomas and Everton
were in a state of huge excitement, eyes glowing,
134 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
and faces full of life. There seemed to be a great
rivalry, too, for the possession of the rifle. For the
snipers always worked in pairs : a man cannot gaze
out at the opposing lines with acute interest for
more than about half an hour on end ; so I used to
work them by pairs, and give them shifts according
to the weather. In summer you could put a pair on
for four hours, and they would work well, taking
half-hour shifts ; but in cold weather two hours was
quite enough.
" We've got them, sir," from 75 Thomas ; " they
was working in the trench over there — by all them
blue sand-bags, sir — four of them, sir "
" Yes, and I saw him throw up his arms, sir,"
put in Everton, excited for the first time I have ever
seen him, and trying to push Thomas out of the box,
and have another look. But Thomas would not be
pushed.
" Splendid," I said : "by Jove, that's good work.
Can I see ? " But it was snowing hard, and I could
see very little. I tried the telescope. " Put it right
up to your eye, sir," said Thomas, forgetting that I
had myself taught him this in billets as he vainly
tried to see through it holding it about four inches
from his face, and declaring that he could see every-
thing just as well with his own eyes !
" Yes, I think I sec where you mean," said I ; "up
by that sand-bag dump. There's a mine-shaft there,
and they were probably some of their R.E.'s piling
up sand-bags, or emptyhig them out. I believe that
SNIPING 185
is what they usually do now, fill the sand-bags below
in their galleries, bring them up, empty them, and
use the same ones again."
Thomas and Everton gaped at this. It had not
occurred to them to consider that the Boche had
R.E.'s. They were of the unimaginative class of
snipers, who " saw, did, and reported," and on the
whole I preferred them to those who saw, and im-
mediately " concluded." For their conclusions
were usually wrong. To men like Thomas I was,
I think, looked upon as one who had some slightly
supernatural knowledge of the German lines ; he
did not realise that by careful compass-bearings I
knew the exact ground visible from his post, and
that my map of the German lines, showing every
trench as revealed by aeroplane photographs, was
accurate to a yard. He was like a retriever, who
keeps to heel, noses out his bird with unerring skill,
and brings it in with the softest of mouths ; yet the
cunning and strategy he leaves to his master, who
is decidedly his inferior in nose and mouth. So 75
Thomas could see and shoot far better than I ;
but it was I who thought out the strategy of the
shoot.
" Well," said I, as I doled out a rather more hberal
rum ration than usual, " that's d good work,
anyway. Two you got, you say ? Not sure about
the second ? Anyway you had two good shots, and
remember what I told you, a sniper only shoots to
kill. So two it's going to be, anyhow." (They both
136 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
grinned at this, which was the nearest they could
get to a wink.) " I'm very pleased about it. Now
it's not much good staying up here in this thick snow,
so you can go off till I send word to your dug-out
for you to go on again."
I turned to go away, thinking that the other posts,
rumless, and in all probability quarryless, must be
in a state of exasperating coldness by now. But
Thomas and Everton did not move. There was
something wanted.
" Well, what is it ? "
" Please sir, can we stay on here a bit ? P'raps
one of those R.E. fellows may come back for some-
thing "
" Good heavens, yes," I said, " stay on as long as
you like," and smiled as I made off to my other posts.
(Later I used to get the snipers to report to me com-
ing off their posts, and get their rum ration then ;
as I found it gave a bad appearance and damaged
the reputation of the snipers when people saw me
going about with the nose of a bottle of " O.V.H."
whiskey sticking out of my haversack !) There,
as I expected, I found the men blue and bored.
" You can't see nothing to-day, sir, at all," was
the sentence with which I was immediately greeted.
Even the rum seemed to inspire very little outward
enthusiasm.
" You can go off to your dug-outs till I send for
you," I replied, carefully corking the bottle and not
looking at them while I spoke : "if you hke," I
SNIPING 187
added after a pause, looking up. But the post was
empty.
That afternoon I was up on No. i post, with a
sniper who was new to the work. It was still freez-
ing, but the snow-clouds had cleared right away,
and the wind had dropped. There was a tingle in
the air ; everything was as still as death ; the sun
was shining from a very blue sky, and throwing
longer and longer shadows in the snow as the after-
noon wore on. It was a valuable afternoon, the
enemy's wire showing up very clearly against the
white ground, and I was showing the new sniper
how to search the trench systematically from left to
right, noting the exact position of anything that
looked like a loophole, or steel-plate, and especially
the thickness of the wire, what kind, whether it was
grey and new, or rusty-red and old ; whether there
were any gaps in it, and where. All these things a
sniper should note every morning when he comes on
to his post. Gaps are important, as patrols must
come out through gaps, and the Lewis gunners
should know these, and be ready to fire at them if a
patrol is heard thereabouts in No Man's Land.
Similarly, old gaps closed up must be reported.
It was very still. " Has the war stopped ? "
one felt inclined to ask. No, there is the sound of
shells exploding far away on the right somewhere ;
in the French lines it must be, somewhere about
Frise. Then a " phut " from just opposite, and a
long whining " we'oo — we'oo — we'oo — we'-oo . . .
138 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
bzung," and a rifle-grenade burst with a snarl about
a hundred yards behind. Then another, and
another, and another. " They're trying for Tra-
falgar Square," said I. No. i post was a little to the
right of the top of 76 Street. I waited. There were
no more. It was just about touch and go whether
we replied. If they went on up to about a dozen, the
chances were that the bombing-corporal in charge
of our rifle-grenade battery would rouse himself, and
loose off twenty in retaliation. But, no. Perhaps
the German had repented him of the evil of desecrat-
ing the peace of such an afternoon ; or perhaps he
was just ranging, and had an observer away on the
flank somewhere to watch the effect of his shooting.
Anyway he did not fire again, and the afternoon
slumber was resumed, till the evening " strafe "
came on in due course.
" I can see something over on the left, sir. It is
a man's head, sir ! Look ! "
I looked. Yes !
" No," I almost shouted. " It's a dummy head.
Just have a look. And don't, whatever you do,
fire."
Sure enough, a cardboard head appeared over the
front parapet opposite, with a grey cap on. Slowly
it disappeared. Without the telescope it would
have been next to impossible to see it was not a man.
Again it appeared, then slowly sank out of view. It
was well away on the left, just in front of where the
" R.E.'s " had been hit at dawn. For this post was
SNIPING
189
well-sited, having an oblique field of vision, as all
good sniping-posts should. That is to say, they
should be sited something like this :
7
rV^— C| CA^M,a.«A ^rorvl' lint
T. Ol^.•v furvxb U
Wo 1 Poit
The ideal is to have all your posts in the supports,
and not in the front line, and at about three hundred
yards from the enemy front line. Of course if the
ground slopes away behind you, you cannot get
positions in the supports unless there are buildings
to make posts in. By getting an oblique view, you
gain two advantages :
{a) If A gets a shot at C, C's friends look out for
" that d d sniper opposite," and look in the
direction of B, who is carefully concealed from direct
view.
(6) A's loophole is invisible from direct observa-
tion by D, as it is pointing slantwise at C.
All this I now explained to my new sniper.
" But why not smash up his old dummy, sir ?
Might put the wind up the fellow working it."
140 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" No," I explained. " Look at the paper again.
(I had drawn it out for him, as I have on the previous
page.) Thomas shot at those R.E.'s this morning,
don't you see ? He was here (B), and they're at D.
Now they're trying to find you, or the man who shot
their pal ; and you can bet anything you like they've
got a man watching either at C or right away on the
left to spot you if you fire at the dummy. No. Lie
doggo, and see if you can spot that man on the flank.
He's probably got a periscope."
" Can't see him, sir," at length.
" No. Never mind ; he's probably far too well
concealed. Always remember the Boche is as clever
as you, and sometimes cleverer."
" Ah, but he wants me to shoot, sir, and I won't,"
came the cheery answer. " What about smashing
up his old dummy ? " I reminded him. His face
fell. He had forgotten his old un-sniper-like self
already. " Never mind," said I. " Now when
Thomas and Everton come up here, mind you tell
them all about the dummy ; and tell Thomas from
me that the Boche doesn't spend his time dummy-
wagging for nothing. Probably it was an R.E.
sergeant."
II
" Swis-s-sh— bang. Swis-s-sh — bdng."
" That settles it," said I, as I scrambled hastily
down into the trench, preceded by the sniper I had
with me that day as orderly. I more or less pushed
SNIPING 141
him along for ten yards — then halted ; we faced
each other both very much out of breath and
" blowy." The whole place was reeking with the
smell of powder, and the air full of sand-bag fluff.
" That settles it," I repeated : " I always thought
that was a rotten post ; and I object to being whizz-
banged. ' A sniper's job is to see and not be seen,'
Isn't that right, Morris ? "
" Yes, sir," replied Morris, adding with a sad lack
of humour " They must have seen us, sir ! "
" Exactly : they did. And they weren't very far
off hitting one of us into the bargain. As I say,
that settles it. We'll leave that post for ever and
ever ; and to-night we'll build a new one that they
won't see."
At ten o'clock that night we were well at work.
Just on the one hundred metre contour line there
was a small quarry, at the west end of which had
been the too conspicuous post where the Boche had
spotted us. Every loophole must by its very nature
be " spottable " ; but when the natural ground is
so little disturbed that it looks exactly the same as
it did before the post was made, then indeed this
" spottability " is so much reduced that it verges on
invisibility. So, leaving the old post exactly as
before, we were building a new one about twenty
yards to the west of it.
There was a disused support trench running west
from the Quarry, and this suited my purpose admir-
ably. It ran just along the crest of the hill, and
142
NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
commanded even a better view of Fricourt than the
Quarry itself. Moreover, there was enough earth
thrown up in front of the trench to enable us to fix
in the steel-plate (at an angle of 45° : this increases
its impenetrability) on ground level, without the top
protruding above the top of the earth. The soil in
front was not touched at all until the plate was fixed
in, and then enough was carefully scooped away
from the front of the actual loophole to secure a fair
field of view. The earth in front of the loophole is
then exactly like a castle wall, with a splay window.
If you think of a Norman castle you will know
exactly what I mean. The loophole represents the
inch-wide aperture in the inner side of the splay.
Similarly an embrasure is built behind the loophole,
with room for one man to stand and fire, and the
second man to sit by him. A rainproof shelter of
corrugated iron is placed over this embrasure, and
covered over with earth ; this prevents it being
spotted by aeroplane ; also it makes the place habit-
able in the rain. Here is a section of a typical sniper's
post :
J^n,
fiirtti
CCUUAOQ-tLft Ltirvx /loo/inq
SNIPING 143
" Click, click click " went the pick into the chalk,
cutting room for the embrasure ; there was a tinny
sound as some of the loose surface soil came away
with a spurt, spilling on to the two sheets of corru-
gated iron waiting to go on to the roof. Added to
this were the few quiet whispers, such as " Where's
that sand-bag ? " or " Is this low enough, sir ? ",
and the heavy breathing of Private Evans as he
returned from the Quarry after emptying his sand-
bag. For all the chalk cut away had to be carried
to the Quarry and emptied there ; new earth on the
top there would not give any clue to those gentlemen
in Fricourt Wood who put the smell of powder in
my nostrils a few hours back.
It was a darkish night, but not so dark but
what you could see the top of the trench. There
are very few nights when the sky does not show
lighter than the trench-sides. There are a few,
though, especially when it is raining ; and they
are bad, very bad. But that night I could just
distinguish the outline of the big crater-top, half-
right, and follow the near skyUne along the Ger-
man parapet down into Fricourt valley. I was
gazing down into that silent blackness, when a
machine-gun started popping ; I could see the
flashes very clearly from my position. Somewhere
in Fricourt they must be.
Meanwhile the post was nearly finished ; the
corrugated iron was being fixed to the wooden up-
right, and Jones was on the parapet sprinkUng earth
144 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
over it. The others were deepening the trench from
the Quarry to the post.
" That's the machine-gun that goes every night,
sir," said Jones. " Enfilading, that's what it is."
" Pop — pop — pop," answered the machine-gun.
" Look here, Jones," said I. " You know No, 5
post, opposite Aeroplane Trench ? "
" Yes, sir ! "
" Well, go down there, and see if you can see the
flashes from there ; and if you can, mark it down.
See ? "
" Yes, sir ! " and he had his equipment on in no
time, and was starting off when I called him back.
" Be very careful to mark your own position,"
I warned him. " You know what I mean."
He knew, and I knew that he knew.
Meanwhile, I stuck an empty cartridge case in the
parados behind my head and waited.
Five flashes spat out again, and " pop — pop —
pop — pop — pop " came up out of the valley : and
between me and them in the parapet I stuck a
second cartridge case
I looked at my watch. It was half -past twelve.
The post was finished, and the trench deep enough
to get along, crawling anyway.
" Cease work."
The next day was so misty that you could see
practically nothing over five hundred yards, and the
newfpost was useless. The following day it had
SNIPING 145
frozen again, and an inch of snow lay on the ground.
It was a sunny morning, and from the new post all
Fricourt lay in full view before me. How well I
remember every detail of that city of the dead ! In
the centre stood the white ruin of the church, still
higher than the houses around it, though a stubby
stump compared to what it must have been before
thousands of shells reduced it to its present state.
All around were houses ; roofless, wall-less skeletons
all of them, save in a few cases, where a red roof still
remained, or a house seemed by some magic to be
still untouched. On the extreme right was Rose
Cottage, a well-known artillery mark ; just to its
left were some large park-gates, with stone pillars,
leading into Fricourt Wood ; and just inside the
wood was a small cottage — a lodge, I suppose. The
extreme northern part of the village was invisible,
as the ground fell away north of the church. I
could see where the road disappeared from view ;
then beyond, clear of the houses, the road re-
appeared and ran straight up to the skyline, a mile
further on. A communication trench crossed this
road : (I remember we saw some men digging there
one morning). With my glasses I could see every
detail ; beyond the communication trench were
various small copses, and tracks running over the
field ; and on the skyline, about three thousand
yards away, was a long row of bushes.
And just to the left of it all ran the two white lace-
borders of chalk trenches, winding and wobbhng
146 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
along, up, up, up until they disappeared over the
hill to La Boiselle. Sometimes they diverged as
much as three hundred yards, but only to come in
together again, so close that it was hard to see which
was ours and which the German. Due west of
Fricourt church they touched in a small crater
chain.
It was a fascinating view. I could not realise
that there lay a French village ; I think we often
forgot that we were on French soil, and not on a
sort of unreal earth that would disappear when the
war was over ; especially was No Man's Land a kind
of neutral stage, whereon was played the great game.
To a Frenchman, of course, Fricourt was as French
as ever it had been. But I often forgot, when I
watched the shells demolishing a few more houses,
that these were not German houses deserving of
their fate. Perhaps people will not understand this :
it is true, anyway.
I was drawing a sketch of the village, when lo !
and behold ! coolly walking down the road into
Fricourt came a solitary man. I had to think
rapidly, and decide it must be a German, because
the thing was so unexpected ; I could not for the
moment get out of my head the unreasonable idea
that it might be one of our own men ! However,
I soon got over that.
" Sight your rifle at two thousand yards," said I
to Morgan, who was with me. " Now, give it to
me."
SNIPING 147
Carefully I took aim. I seemed to be holding the
rifle up at an absurd angle. I squeezed, and
squeezed
The German jumped to one side, on to the grass
at the side of the road, and doubled for all he was
worth out of sight into Fricourt ! Needless to say,
I did not see him again to get another shot !
" They've been using that road last night, sir,"
said 58 Morgan, while I was taking a careful bearing
on my empty cartridge case. (A prismatic compass
is invaluable for taking accurate cross-bearings.)
" Yes," I said. " Why yes, of course, they must
have used it last night. I never thought of that.
Good. We'll get the artillery on there to-night,
and upset their ration-carts."
This pleased the fancy of Sniper 58 Morgan, and
a broad grin came over his face at the thought of the
Boche losing his breakfast.
" Maybe, sir, we'll see the sausages on the road
to-morrow morning."
For which thought I commended him not a little :
a sense of humour is one of the attributes of a good
sniper, just as rash conclusions are not.
I then went down to No. 5 Post, where Jones was
awaiting me, according to arrangement. There I
took a second bearing, and retired to my dug-out to
work out the two angles on the map. " From map
to compass add : from compass to map subtract "
I repeated to myself, and disposed of the magnetic
148 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
variation summarily. Then with the protractor I
plotted out the angles. " Exactly. The small house
with the grey roof standing out by itself on the left.
So that's where you live, my friend, is it ? "
Once more I was up at the new post, scrutinising
the grey-roofed house with the telescope. After a
long gaze, I almost jumped. I gave the telescope to
Morgan. He gazed intently for a moment.
Then, " Is that a hole, sir, over the door, in the
shadow, like . . . ? "
" It is," I answered
That night the machine-gun started popping as
usual, when suddenly a salvo of whizz-bangs
screamed over, and H.E.'s joined in the game. All
round and about the little grey-roofed house flick-
ered the flashes of bursting shells. Then the enemy
retaliated, and for a quarter of an hour " a certain
liveliness prevailed." Then came peace. But there
was no sound all night of a machine-gun popping
from Fricourt village ; on the other hand, our
machine-guns had taken up the tune, with short
bursts of overhead fire, searching for those Boche
ration carts. And in the morning the grey-roofed
cottage appeared with two tiles left on the right-
hand bottom corner of the roof, and the front wall
had a huge gap in it big enough to act as a mouth
for fifty machine-guns. Only Morgan was dis-
appointed : all marks of the sausages had been
cleared away before dawn ! After all, are not the
Germans pre-eminently a tidy people ?
SNIPING 149
III
Private Ellis had hard blue eyes that looked at
you, and looked, and went on looking ; they always
reminded me of the colour of the sea when a north
wind is blowing and the blue is hard and bright. I
have seen two other pairs of eyes like them. One
belonged to Captain Jefferies, the big game shooter,
who lectured on Sniping at the Third Army School.
The other pair were the property of a sergeant I met
this week for the first time, " Are you a marks-
man ? " I asked him. " Yes, sir ! Always a marks-
man, sir."
There is no mistaking those eyes. They are the
eyes of a man who has used them all his life, and
found them grow steadier and surer every year.
They are essentially the eyes of a man who can
watch, watch, watch all day, and not get tired of
watching ; and they were the eyes of my best
sniper.
For Private EUis had all the instincts of a cunning
hunter. I had no need to tell him to keep his tele-
scope well inside the loophole, lest the sun should
catch on the glass ; no need to remind him to stuff
a bit of sand-bag in the loophole when he left the
post unoccupied. He never forgot to let the sand-
bag curtain drop behind him as he entered the box,
to prevent Ught coming into it and showing white
through a loophole set in dark earth. There was no
need either to make sure that he understood the
150 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
telescopic sights on his rifle ; and there was no need
to tell him that the Boches were clever people. He
never under-estimated his foe.
It was a warm day in early March. Private Ellis
was in No. 5 Box, opposite Aeroplane Trench. This
post was very cunningly concealed. Our front
trench ran along a road, immediately behind which
was a steep chalk bank, the road having originally
been cut out of a rather steep slope. You will see
the lie of the ground clearly enough on Map III.
Just about five yards behind this bank was cut a
deep narrow trench, and in this trench were built
several snipers' posts, with loopholes looking out of
the chalk bank. These loopholes were almost im-
possible to see, as they were very nearly indis-
tinguishable from the shadows in the bank. Any-
one who has hunted for oyster-catchers' eggs on a
pebbly beach knows that black and white is the
most protective colour scheme existing. And so
these little black loopholes were almost invisible
in the black and white of the chalk bank.
All the morning Private Ellis had been watching
out of the corner of his eye a Uttle bit of glass shining
in Aeroplane Trench. Now Aeroplane Trench (as
you will also see from the map) was a sap running
out from the German front trench into a sunken
road. From the centre sap two little branch saps
ran up and down the road, and then slightly forward;
the whole plan of it rather resembled an aeroplane
and gave it its name. In it to-day was a Boche with
SNIPING 151
a periscopic rifle ; and it was this little bit of glass
at the top of the periscope, and the nose of the riflc-
barrel that Private Ellis was watching. Every now
and again the glass and nose-cap would give a little
jump, and " plop " a bullet would bury itself in our
front parapet. One of our sentries had had his peri-
scope smashed during the morning, I was informed
by a company commander with rather the air of
" What's the use of you and your snipers, if you
can't stop them sniping us ? " I told ElUs about
the periscope, to which he replied : "It won't break
us, I guess, sir — twopenn'orth of new glass for a peri-
scope. It's heads that count." In which remark
was no little wisdom.
" Crack — plop," and after a long interval another
" Crack — zin — n — n — g," as a bullet ricocheted off
a stone, and went away over the ridge and fell with
a little sigh somewhere in the ground right away
beyond Redoubt A. So it went on all the afternoon,
while the sun was warming everyone up and one
dreamed of the summer, and warm days, dry
trenches, and short nights. Elhs had gone of^
rather reluctantly at midday, and the other reUef
was there. There was a slumbrous sensation about
that brought on the feeling that there was no one
really in the enemy trenches at all. Yet there was
the little glass eye looking at us : it reminded one of
a snake in the grass. It glittered, unbUnking.
At about six o'clock I again visited the post.
ElUs was back there, and watching as keenly as ever.
152 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" No luck ? " I remarked. "I'm afraid your
friend is too wily for you ; he's not going to put his
head over, when he can see through a periscope as
well."
Still Private Ellis said little, but his eye was as
clear and keen as ever ; and still the periscope
remained.
" We must shell him out to-morrow," I said, and
went off.
At half -past seven we had " stood down," and I
was messing with " B " Company, when I heard a
voice at the top of the dug-out, and the servant who
was waiting — Lewis, I think it was — said a sniper
wanted to see me.
" Tell him to come down."
Private Ellis appeared at the door. Not a muscle
in his body or face moved, but his eyes were glowing
and glittering, " Got him, sir," was all he said.
" What ? " I cried. " Got that Boche in Aero-
plane Trench ? By Jove, tell us all about it."
And so to the accompaniment of a whiskey and
Perrier he told us exactly what happened. It was
not till well after " stand-to," it appeared, that any
change had occurred in Aeroplane Trench. Then
the periscope had wobbled and disappeared below
ground. Then there had been another long wait,
and the outline of the sunken road had begun to get
faint. Then slowly, very slowly, a pink forehead
had appeared over the top, and as slowly dis-
appeared. I wish I had been there to watch Ellis
SNIPING 153
then. I can imagine him coolly, methodically
sighting his rifle on the trench-edge, and waiting.
" I had to wait another minute, sir ; then it ap-
peared again, the whole head this time. He thought
it was too dark to be seen . . . Oh, he won't worry
us any more, sir ! I saw one of his arms go up, and
I thought I could see him fall against the back of
the trench. But it was getting so dark, I couldn't
have seen him five minutes later at all."
And if Ellis couldn't, who could ?
Next day, and for many days, there was no sniping
from Aeroplane Trench.
CHAPTER IX
ON PATROL
HULLO, Bill ! " from Will Todd, as he
passed me going up 76 Street.
" Hullo," I answered, " where are you
off to ? "
" Going on patrol," was the reply, "Oh, by
the way, you probably know something about this
rotten sap opposite the Quarry. I'm going out to
find out if it's occupied at night or not."
" Opposite the Quarry ? " said I. " Oh, yes,
I know it. We get rather a good view of it from
No. I Post."
" That post up on the right here ? Yes, I was
up there this afternoon, but you can't see much
from anywhere here. The worst of it is I was going
with 52 Jones ; only his leave has just come through.
You see, I've never been out before. I'm trying a
fellow called Edwards, but I don't know him."
" If you can't get Edwards," I said suddenly,
" I've a good mind to come out with you. Meet me
at Trafalgar Square, and let me know."
As Will disappeared, I immediately repented of
my offer, repented heartily, repented abjectly. I
had never been on patrol, and a great sinking feeling
154
ON PATROL 155
came over me. I hoped with all my might that
Edwards would be bubbling over with enthusiasm
for patrolUng. I was afraid. With all the indif-
ference to shells and canisters that was gradually
growing upon me, I had never been out into No
Man's Land. And yet I had volunteered to go out,
and at the time of doing so I felt quite excited at
the prospect. " Fool," I said to myself.
" Edwards doesn't seem at all enthusiastic about
it," said Will. " Will you really come out ? "
" Yes, rather. I'm awfully keen to go. I've
never been before, either. How are you going ? "
We exchanged views on how best to dress and
carry our revolvers, which instantly assumed a new
interest.
" What time are you going out ? "
" Eight o'clock."
It was a quarter to already.
In the dug-out I was emptying my pockets,
taking off my equipment, and putting on a cap-
comforter. I had my compass with me, and put
it in my pocket. I looked on the map and saw
that the sap was practically due north of the
Quarry. And I took a nip of brandy out of my
flask. Will had gone to arrange with Captain
Robertson about warning the sentries. I was alone,
and still cursing myself for this unnecessary adven-
ture. When I was ready, I stodged up 76 Street
to the Quarry. It was certainly a good night, very
black.
156 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
When I saw Will and Captain Robertson together
on the fire-step peering over, I felt rather bucked
with myself. Hitherto I had felt like an enthu-
siastic bather undressing, nearly everyone else
having decided it was not warm enough to bathe ;
now it was as if I suddenly found that they were
watching me as I ran down the beach, and I no
longer repented of my resolution. Next moment
I was climbing up on to the slimy sandbag wall,
and dropping over the other side. I was surprised
to find there was very little drop at all. There
was an old ditch to be crossed, and then we came
to our wire, which was very thin at this point.
While Will was cursing, and making, it seemed to
me, rather an unnecessary rattling and shaking of
the wire (you know how wire reverberates if you
hit a fence by the road), I looked back at our own
parapet. I felt it would be a good thing to see
on one's return ; again, it struck me how low it
was, regarded from this side ; I saw a head move
along the top of it. This made me jump. Already
our trench seemed immeasurably far off.
I looked in front again, as the noise of Will's
wire-rattHng had ceased. In fact he was clean
out of sight. This made me jump again, and I
hurried on. It was " knife-rest " wire (see next
page).
I stepped over it, and my foot came down on to
more wire, which rattled with a noise that made
me stand stock still awaiting something to happen.
ON PATROL 157
I felt like a cat who has upset a tablecloth and all
the tea things. I stood appalled at the unexpected
clatter. But really it was hardly audible to our
sentries, much less to the Germans at least a
hundred and twenty yards away.
At last I got through and flopped down. Im-
mediately Will's form showed up dark in front of
me. When I was standing up, I had been unable
to see him against the black ground. We lay about
a minute absolutely quiet, according to arrange-
ment.
I had fairly made the plunge now, and I felt
like the bather shaking his hair as he comes up
for the first time, and shouting out how glorious
it is. I was elated. The feel of the wet grass was
good under my hands ; the silence was good ; the
immense loneliness, save for Will's black form, ^^^as
good ; and a shght rustle of wind in the grass was
good also. I just wanted to lie, and enjoy it. I
hoped Will would not go on for another minute.
But soon he began to crawl.
Have you done much crawling ? It is slow work.
158 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
You take knee-steps, and they are not like foot-
steps : they are not a hundred and twenty to the
hundred yards They are more like fifty to ten
yards, I should think. Anyway it seemed endless.
The end of the sap was, to be precise, just one
hundred and twenty-five yards from our front
trench. Yet when I had gone, I suppose, forty
yards, I expected to be on it any minute. Will
must be going wrong. I thought of the map.
Could we be going north-east instead of north ?
Will halted. I nearly bumped into his right foot,
which raised itself twice, signalling a halt. I took
out my compass, and looked at it. I shaded it
with my hand, the luminous arrow seemed so
bright : " rather absurd," I thought immediately,
"as if the Boches could possibly see it from the
trench." But we were going straight enough.
Then the figure in front moved on, and I came
up to where he had halted. It was the edge of a
big shell-hole, full of water ; I put my left hand
in up to the wrist, I don't know why.
Still the figure crawled on, with a sort of hump-
backed sidle that I had got to know by now. It
was interminable this crawling . . .
" Swis — s — sh." A German flare shot up from
ever so close. It seemed to be falHng right over us.
Then it burst with a " pop." I had my head down
on my arms, but I could squint out sideways. It
seemed impossible we should not be seen ; for
there, hardly twenty yards away, was the German
ON PATROL 159
wire, as clear as anything. Meanwhile the flare
had fallen behind us. Would it never go out ?
I noticed the way the blades of grass were lit up
by it ; and there was an old tin or something. . . .
I started as a rat ran across the grass past me.
I wondered if it were a German rat, or one of
ours.
Then at last the flare went out, and the black-
ness was intense. For a while longer we lay still
as death ; then I saw Will's foot move again. I
listened intently, and on my right I heard a metallic
sound. Quite close it was ; it sounded Uke the
clank of a dixie. I peered hard in the direction of
the sound. Faintly I could distinguish earth above
the ground-hne. I had not looked to my right
when the flare went up, and realised, as Will
already had done, that we were out as far as the
end of the sap. It was perhaps ten yards off, due
right. I lay with my ear cocked sideways to catch
the faintest sound. Clearly there was someone in
the sap. But there was a wind swishing in the
grass, and I could not hear anything more. Then
my tense attitude relaxed, and I gradually sank
my chin on my arm. I felt very comfortable. I
did not want to move . , .
" Bang ! ! " and then a flame spat out ; then came
that gritty metalHc sound I had heard before, and
another " Bang ! " I kept my head down and
waited for the next, but it did not come. Then I
heard a most human scroopy cough, which
160 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
also sounded very near. The " bangs " were
objectionably near ; I literally shrank from them.
To tell the truth, I had the "wind up" a bit.
Those bullets seemed to me vicious personal spits
that were distinctly unpleasant and near ; and I
wanted to get away from so close a proximity to
them. I remembered a maxim of some famous
General to the intent that if you are afraid of the
enemy, the best thing was to remember that in all
probability he was just as afraid of you. The
maxim did not seem to apply somehow here. At
the first " bang " I had thought we were seen ;
but I now realised that the sentry was merely
blazing off occasional shots, and that the bullets
had just plopped into our parapet.
Then Will turned round, and I did the same.
Our business was certainly ended, for there was
no doubt about the sap being occupied. Then I
heard a thud behind us, and looking up saw the
slow climbing trail of a canister blazing up into
the sky ; up it mounted, up, up, up, hovered a
moment, then turned, and with a gathering impetus
blazed down somewhere well behind our front
trench.
" Trafalgar Square," I thought, as I lay doggo,
for the blaze lit up the sky somewhat.
" Bomp," The earth shook as the canister
exploded.
" Thud," and the process was repeated exactly
as before, ending in another quaking " Bomp ! "
ON PATROL 161
I enjoyed this. It was rather a novel way of
seeing canisters, and moreover a very safe way.
Two more streamed over.
Then our footballs answered, and burst with a
bang in the air not so very far over into the German
lines. The trench-mortar fellow was evidently
trying short fuses, for usually our trench-mortar
shells burst on percussion.
Then in the distance I heard four bangs, and
the Boche 4-2's started, screaming over at Maple
Redoubt. I determined to move on.
Then suddenly came four distant bangs from
the right of our lines (as we faced them), and with
" wang — wang . . . wang — wang " four whizz-
bangs burst right around us, with most appalling
flickers. " Bang — bang . . . bang — bang " in the
distance again, and I braced every muscle tightly,
as you do when you prepare to meet a shock.
Behind us, and just in front, the beastly things
burst. I lay with every fibre in my body strained
to the uttermost. And yet I confess I enjoyed
the sensation !
There was a lull, and I began crawling as fast
as I could. I stopped to see if Will was following.
" By God," I heard, " let's get out of this." So
I was thinking ! Then as I went on I saw the edge
of a crater. Where on earth ?
I halted and pulled out my compass. Due south
I wanted. I found I was bearing off to the right
far too much, so with compass in hand I corrected
162 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
my course. Some crawling this time ! It was not
long before we could see wire in the distance. Then
I got up and ran. How I got through that wire
I don't know ; I tore my puttees badly, and must
have made a most unnecessary rattling. After
which I fell into the ditch.
" Thank heaven you're all right," was the greeting
from Captain Robertson. " I was just coming out
after you. Those d — d artillery fellows. I sent
down at once to 'phone to them to stop ..."
And so on, I hardly heard a word. I was so
elated, I could not listen. As we went back to
Trafalgar Square for dinner, I heard them warning
the sentries " The patrol's in." I looked up at the
sandbag parapet. " In," I thought. " One does
not realise what ' in ' is, till one's been out."
I have been out several times later. I never had
any adventures much. But always, before going
out, I felt the shivers of the bather ; and always,
after I came in, a most splendid glow.
CHAPTER X
"WHOM THE GODS LOVE"
NO officer wounded since we came out in
October," said Edwards : " we're really
awfully lucky, you know."
" For heaven's sake, touch wood," I cried.
We laughed, for the whole of our establishment
was wood. We were sitting on a wooden seat, lean-
ing our hands against wooden uprights, eating off
a wooden table, and resting our feet on a wooden
floor. Sometimes, too, we found splinters of wood
in the soup — but it was more often straw. For this
dining-room in Trafalgar Square was known some-
times as the " Summer-house " and sometimes as the
" Straw Palace." It was really the maddest so-
called " dug-out " in the British lines, I should
think ; I might further add, " in any trench in
Europe." For the French, although they presum-
ably built it in the summer days of 1915 when the
Bois Frangais trenches were a sort of summer-rest
for tired-out soldiers, would never have tolerated
the " Summer-house " since the advent of the
canister-age. As for the Boche, he would have
merely stared if anyone had suggested him using it
163
164 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
as a Company Headquarters. " But," he would
have said, " it is not shell-proof."
Exactly. It would not have stood even a whizz-
bang. A rifle-grenade would almost certainly have
come right through it. As for a canister or H.E.,
it would have gone through like a stone piercing
wet paper. But it had been Company Head-
quarters for so long — it was so light and, being
next door to the servants' dug-out, so convenient —
that we always lived in it still ; though we slept
in a dug-out a little way down Old Kent Road,
which was certainly whizz-bang — if not canister —
proof.
At any rate, here were Edwards and myself,
drinking rather watery ox-tail soup out of very
dinted tin-plates — the spoons were scraping noisily
on the metal ; overhead, a rat appeared out of the
straw thatch, looked at me, blinked, turned about,
and disappeared again, sending a little spill of earth
on to the table.
" Hang these rats," I exclaimed, for the tenth
time that day.
Outside, it was brilliant moonhght : whenever
the door opened, I saw it. It was very quiet. Then
I heard voices, the sound of a lot of men, moving in
the shuffling sort of way that men do move at night
in a communication trench.
The door flew open, and Captain Robertson looked
in.
" Hullo, Robertson ; you're early ! "
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 165
It was not much past half-past seven.
" You've got those sand-bags up by 78 Street ? "
he said, sitting down.
" Yes, 250 there, and 250 right up in the Loop.
The rest I shall use on the Fort. Oh ! by the way,
you know we are strafing at 12.5 ? We just had a
message up from Dale. I shall knock off at 11.45
to-night ! "
"I'll see how we get on. I want to finish that
traverse. Righto. I'm just drawing tools and going
up now."
" See you up there in a few minutes."
And the muttering stream of " A " Company filed
past the dug-out, going up to the front line. The
door swung open suddenly, and each man looked in
as he went by.
" Shut the door," I shouted. Our plates them-
selves somehow suddenly looked epicurean.
Soon after eight I was up in the front hne. It was
the brightest night we had had, and ideal for sand-
bag work. The men were already at it. There was
a certain amount of inevitable talking going on,
before everyone got really started. We were work-
ing on the Fort, completing two box dug-outs that
we had half put in the night before ; also, we were
thickening the parapet, between the Fort and the
Loop, and building a new fire-step.
" Can't see any b sand-bags here," came from
one man.
" We'll have to pick this, sir," from another.
166 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" Where's Mullens gone off to ? " sharply from a
sergeant.
But for the most part the moonlight made every-
thing straightforward, and there was only the spit-
ting sound of picks, the heavy, smothered noise of
men lifting sand-bags, or the " slap, slap " of others
patting them into a wall with the back of a shovel,
that broke the stillness. On the left " A " Company
were working full steam ahead, heightening the
parapet and building a big traverse at the entrance
Good sand-bag work,
to the Matterhorn sap. " Robertson's traverse "
we always called it afterwards. He got his men
working in a long chain, passing filled sand-bags
along from a big miners' sand-bag dump, the ac-
cumulation of months of patient R.E. tunneUing.
These huge dumps rose up in gigantic piles where-
ever there was a shaft-head ; and they were a wind-
fall to us if they were anywhere near where we were
working. On this occasion quite a thousand must
have been passed along and built into that traverse,
and the parapet there, by the Matterhorn. It was
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 167
fascinating work, passing these dry, small sacks
as big as medium-sized babies, only as knobby and
angular under their outer cover as a baby is soft and
rounded. Meanwhile the builders laid them, like
bricks, alternate " headers " and " stretchers."
And so the work went on under the moon.
" Davies," I cried, in that low questioning tone
that might well be called " trench voice." It is not
a whisper ; yet it is not a full, confident sound. If
a man speaks loudly in the front trench, you tell him
to remember the Boche is a hundred yards away ;
if he whispers in a hoarse voice that sounds a little
nervy, you tell him that the Boche's ears are not a
hundred yards long. The result is a restrained and
serious-toned medium.
" Sirr," answered a voice close beside me, in a
pitch rather louder than the usual trench- voice.
Davies always spoke clear and loud. He was my
orderly.
" Oh ! there you are." Like a dog he had got
tired of standing, and while I stood watching the
fascinating progress of the erection of a box dug-out
under Sergeant Hayman's direction, he was sitting
on the fire-step immediately behind me. Had he
been a collie, his tongue would have been out, and he
would have yawned occasionally ; or his nose might
even have been between his paws. Now he jumped
up, giving a hitch to his rifle that was slung over his
left shoulder.
168 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
"I'm going round the sentries," I said.
Davies said nothing, but followed about two paces
behind, stopping when I stopped, and gazing at me
silently when I got up on the fire-step to look over.
The low-ground in the quarry was very wet, and
the trench there two feet deep in water, so it was
temporarily abandoned, and the Uttle trench out of
76 Street by No, i Sniping Post was my way to
No. 5 Platoon. It was a very narrow bit of trench,
and on a dark night one kept knocking one's thighs
and elbows against hard corners of chalk-filled sand-
bags. To-night it was easy in the white moonlight.
It was really not a trench at all, but a path behind
a sand-bag dump. Behind was the open field.
There was no parados.
All correct on the two posts in No. 5. It seemed
almost unnecessary to have two posts on such a
bright night. The outline of the German parapet
looked clear enough. Surely the sentries must be
almost visible to-night ? Right opposite was the
dark earth of a sap-head. Our wire looked very
near and thin.
" Everything all right ? "
" Yes, sir ! "
I saw the bombs lying ready in the crease between
two sand-bags that formed the parapet top. The
pins were bent straight, ready for quick drawing.
The bomber was all right ; and there was not much
wrong with his pal's bayonet, that gUstened in the
moonlight.
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 169
As usual, I went beyond our right post, until I
was met by a peering, suspicious head from the left-
hand sentry of " C " Company.
" Who's that ? " in a hoarse low voice, as the
figure bent down off the fire-step.
" All right. Officer. ' B ' Company."
Then I passed back along the trench to the top of
76 Street ; and so on, visiting all the sentries up to
80 A trench, and disturbing all the working-parties.
" Way, please," I would say to the hindquarters
of an energetic wielder of the pick.
" Hi ! make way there ! " Davies would say in
a higher and louder voice when necessary. Then the
figure would straighten itself, and flatten itself
against the trench, while I squeezed past between
perspiring man and sHmy sand-bag. This " pass-
ing " was an eternal business. It was unavoidable.
No one ever said anything, or apologised. No one
ever grumbled. It was Uke passing strap-hangers
in the crowded carriage of a Tube. Only it went on
day and night.
Craters by moonlight are really beautiful ; the
white chalk-dust gives them the appearance of snow-
mountains. And they look much larger than they
really are. On this occasion, as I looked into them
from the various bombing-posts, it needed little
imagination to suppose I was up in the snows of the
Welsh hills. There was such a death-like stillness
over it all, too. The view from the Matterhorn was
across the widest and deepest of all the craters, and
170 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
I stood a long time peering across that yawning
chasm at the dark, irregular rim of German sand-
bags. I gazed fascinated. What was it all about ?
The sentry beside me came from a village near
Dolgelly : was a farmer's boy. He, too, was gazing
across, hardly liking to shuffle his feet lest he broke
the silence.
" Good God ! " I felt inclined to exclaim. " Has
there ever been anything more idiotic than this ?
What in the name of goodness are you and I doing
here ? "
So I thought, and so I beHeve he was thinking.
" Everything all right ? " was all I said, as I
jumped back into the trench.
" Yes, sir," was all the answer.
About ten o'clock I went back to Trafalgar
Square. There I heard that Thompson of " C "
Company had been wounded. From what I could
gather he had been able to walk down to the dressing-
station, so I concluded he was only slightly hit. But
it came as rather a shock, and I wondered whether
he would go to " Blighty."
At eleven I started off for the front trench again,
via Rue Albert and 78 Street. There was a bit of a
" strafe "on. It started with canisters ; it had now
reached the stage of whizz-bangs as well. I thought
little of it, when " woo — woo — woo — woo," and the
Boche turned on his howitzers. They screamed
over to Maple Redoubt.
A pause. Then again, and they screamed down
*' WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 171
just in front of us, evidently after the corner of
78 Street. I did not hesitate, but pushed on. The
trench was completely blocked. Rue Albert was
revetted with wood and brushwood, and it was all
over the place. Davies and I climbed over with
great difficulty, the whole place reeking with powder.
" Look out, sir ! " came from Davies, and we
crouched down. There was a colossal din while
shells seemed all round us.
" All right, Davies ? " And we pushed on. At
last here was yd) Street, and we turned up to find
another complete block in the trench. We again
scrambled over, and met " A " Company wiring-
party, returning for more wire.
" The trench is blocked," said I, " but you can
get over all right."
We passed in the darkness.
Again " Look out ! " from Davies, and we cowered.
Again the shells screamed down on us, and burst
just behind.
" Good God ! " I exclaimed, " those wirers ! "
Davies ran back.
There was another block in the trench, but no
sign of any men. They were well away by now !
But the shell had fallen between us and them before
they reached the block in 78 Street !
Out of breath we arrived at the top of 78 Street,
to find " A " Company just getting going again
after a hot quarter of an hour. Luckily they had
had no casualties. All was quiet now, and the moon
172 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
looked down upon the workers as before. A quarter
past eleven.
I worked my way along to the Fort and found
there a sentry rather excited because, he said, he
had seen exactly the spot from which they had fired
rifle-grenades in the strafing just now. I got him to
point out the place It was half-left, and as I looked,
sure enough I saw a flash, and a rifle-grenade whined
through the air, and fell with a snarl behind our
trench.
" Davies," I said, " get Lance-Corporal Allan to
come here with the Lewis gun."
Davies was gone Uke a flash.
The Lewis guns had only recently become com-
pany weapons, and were still somewhat of a novelty.
The Lewis gunners were rather envied, and also
rather " downed " by the sergeant-major for being
specialists. But this they could not help ; and they
were, as a matter of fact, the best men in my
company.
Allan arrived, with one of the team carrying two
spare drums of ammunition. We pointed out the
spot, and he laid his gun on the parapet, with the
butt against his shoulder, and his finger on the
trigger, and waited.
" Flash ! "
" There he is, sir ! " from the sentry.
" Drrrrrr-r-r-r " purred the Lewis gun, then
stopped. Then again, ending with another jerk
There was a silence. We waited five minutes.
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 178
" I'll just empty the magazine, sir."
" Dr-r-r-r-r."
Lance-Corporal Allan took off the drum, and
handed it to the other Lewis gunner. Then he
handed down the gun, and we talked a few minutes.
He was very proud of his gun. After a time I
sent him back, and made my way along to "A"
Company.
There I found Robertson. We talked. A tre-
mendous lot of work had been done, and the big
traverse was practically finished.
"I'm knocking off now," said I. It was a quarter
to twelve, and I went along with the " Cease work "
message.
" All right," said Robertson, " I'm just going to
have another look at my wirers. I'll look in as I go
down."
By the time I had reached the top of 76 Street,
the trench was full of the clank of the thermos dixies,
and the men were drinking hot soup. The pioneers
had just brought it up. I stopped and had a taste.
It was good stuff. As I turned off down the trench,
I heard the Germans start shelling again on our left,
but they stopped almost directly. I thought nothing
of it at the time.
It was just midnight when I reached Trafalgar
Square and bumped into Davidson coming round
the corner.
" I was looking for you," said he. " You've
heard about Tommy ? "
174 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" Yes," I answered. " But he's not badly hit, is
he? "
" Oh, you haven't heard. He died at eleven
o'clock."
Died ! My God ! this was something new.
Briefly, tersely, Davidson told me the details. He
had been hit in the mouth while working on the
parapet, and had died down at the dressing station.
I looked hard at Davidson, as we stood together in
the moonlight by the big island traverse at Trafalgar
Square. Somehow I felt my body tense ; my teeth
were pressed together ; my eyes did not want to
blink. Here was something new. I had seen death
often : it was nothing new. But it was the first
time it had taken one of us. I wondered what David-
son felt ; he knew Thompson much better than I.
Yet I knew him well enough — only a day or so ago
he had come to our billet in the butcher's shop, and
we had talked of him afterwards — and now —
dead
All this flashed through my brain in a second.
Meanwhile Davidson was saying,
" Well, I'm just going off for this strafe," when I
heard men running down a trench.
" Quick ! Stretcher-bearers. The Captain's hit,"
came from someone in a low voice. The stretcher-
bearers' dug-out was just by where we were standing,
and immediately I heard a stir inside, and a head
looked out from the waterproof sheet that acted as
curtain in front of it.
*' WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 175
" Is it a stretcher-case ? " a voice asked.
" Yes," was the reply, and without more ado two
stretcher-bearers turned out and ran up 76 Street
after the orderly. At that moment there was a thud,
and a blazing trail climbed up the sky from the left.
" D ," I muttered. " We must postpone this
strafe. Davidson, we'll iix up later, see ? Only no
firing now." As Davidson disappeared to his gun-
position, I ran to the telephone.
" Trench-mortar officer," I said. " Quick ! "
But there is no " quick " about a signaller. He
is always there, and methodically, without haste or
flurry, he takes down and sends messages. There is
no " quickness " ; yet there is no delay. If the
world outside pulses and rocks under a storm of
shells, in the signallers' dug-out is always a deep-sea
calm. So impatiently I watched the operator beat
his httle tattoo on the buzzer ; looked at his face,
as the candle-light shone on it, with its ears hidden
beneath the receiver-drums, and its head swathed
by the band that holds them over the ears. In the
comer, the second signaller sat up and peered out of
his blanket, and then lay down again.
" Zx ? Is there an oihcer there ? Hold on a
minute, please. The officer's at the gun, sir ; will
you speak to the corporal ? "
" Yes." I already had the receiver to my ear.
" Is that the trench-mortar corporal ? Well, go
and tell Mr. Macfarlane, will you, to stop firing at
once, and not to start again till he hears from Mr.
176 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
Adams. Right. Right. Thanks." This last to the
signaller as I left the dug-out.
" Thud ! " and another football blazed through
the sky.
Macfarlane was the officer in charge of the trench-
mortar guns of our sector. I knew him well.
Davidson was in charge of the Stokes gun, which is
a quick-firing trench-mortar gun. Macfarlane's
shells were known as " footballs," but as they had
a handle attached they looked more like hammers
as they slowly curved through the air.
We had arranged to " strafe " a certain position
in the German support line at five minutes after
midnight. But I wanted to stop it before retahation
started. The doctor had gone up the front line,
and Robertson would be brought down any minute.
Outside I met Brock. He said little, but it was
good to have him there. A long while it seemed,
waiting. I started up 76 Street. No sooner had I
started than I heard footsteps coming down, and to
make room I y/ent back. I was preparing to say
some cheery word to Robertson, but when I saw
him he was lying quite still and unconscious. I
stopped the little doctor.
" Is he bad. Doc? "
" Well, old man, I can hardly say. He's got a
fighting chance," and he went on. Slowly I heard
the stretcher-bearers' footsteps growing fainter and
fainter, and there was silence. Thank God ! those
footballs had stopped now !
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 177
Did I guess that Robertson too was mortally
wounded ? I cannot say — only my teeth were set,
and I felt very wideawake. In a minute both
Davidson and Macfarlane came up, Davidson down
76 Street, and Macfarlane from Rue Albert. I told
Macfarlane all about it, and as I did so my blood
was up. I swore hard at the devils that had done
this ; and we agreed on a " strafe " at a quarter to
one.
I stood alone at Trafalgar Square. There was a
great calm sky, and the moon looked down at me.
Then with a " thud " the first football went up.
Then the Stokes answered.
"Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!" Up they
sailed into the air all together, and exploded with a
deafening din.
" Thud— thud ! "
" Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang ! "
Then the Boche woke up. Two canisters rose,
streamed, and fell, dropping slightly to my right.
But still our trench-mortars went on. Two more
canisters tried for Davidson's gun.
I was elated. " This for Thompson and Robert-
son," I said, as our footballs went on methodically.
Then the whizz-bangs began on Trafalgar Square.
I went to the telephone.
" Artillery," I said briefly. " Retaliate C i
Sector."
And then our guns began.
178 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" Scream, scream, scream " they went over.
" Swish — swish " answered the Boche whizz-
bangs.
" Phew," said Sergeant Tallis, the bombing-
sergeant, as he looked out of his dug-out.
" More retaHation," I said to the signaller, and
stepped out again.
A grim exaltation filled me. We were getting our
own back. I did not care a straw for their canisters
or whizz-bangs. It pleased me to hear Sergeant
Tallis say " Phew." My blood was up, and I did
not feel like saying " Phew."
" The officer wants to know if that is enough," said
the telephone orderly, who had come out to find me.
" No," I answered ; " I want more."
The Boche was sending " heavies " over on to
Maple Redoubt. I would go on until he stopped.
My will should be master. Again our shells screamed
over. There was no reply.
Gradually quiet came back.
Then I heard footsteps, and there was Davidson.
His face was glowing too.
" How was that ? " he asked.
How was that ? He had fired magnificently,
though the Boche had sent stuff all round him.
How was that ?
" Magnificent ! We've shut them up."
" I've got six shells left. Shall I blaze them off ? "
"Oh, no ! " said I ; "I think we've avenged
Tommy."
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 179
His face hardened.
" Good night, Bill ! "
But I did not feel Hke sleep. I still stood at the
corner, waiting for I knew not what.
"Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!" went the
Stokes gun. There was a pause, and " bang, bang,
bang, bang, bang ! " came the sound of them burst-
ing. There was a longer pause.
" Bang ! " I watched the spark floating through
the sky.
" Bang ! " came the sound back from the German
trench.
I waited. There was no answer. And for the
first time that night I fancied the moon smiled.
[Copy]
Daily Summary. C i. (Left Company)
6 p.m. 18.3. i6 — 3.30 p.m. 19.3. 16
(a) Operations.
ii.o p.m. Enemy fired six rifle-grenades
from F10/5. The approximate position of the
battery was visible from the Fort, and Lewis
gun fire was brought to bear on it, which im-
mediately silenced it.
11.30 p.m. Enemy fired several trench-
180 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
mortar shells and H.E. shells on junction of
78 Street and Rue Albert (Fio/6), a few falling
in our front line trench by the Matterhorn.
No damage was done to our trenches.
12.45 p.m. Our T.M. Battery fired 12 foot-
balls, and our Stokes gun 32 shells at enemy's
front hne trench in F10/5. The enemy sent a
few canisters over, but then resorted to H.E.'s.
Our artillery retaUated. Our Stokes gun con-
tinued to fire until enemy was silent, no reply
being sent to our last 6 shells.
7.45 a.m. Enemy fired several rifle-grenades
and bombs. Our R.G.'s retaliated with 24
R.G.'s.
(b) Progress of Work.
/ 30 yards of parapet thickened two feet.
F 10/6 I 25 yards of fire-step built.
20 coils of wire put out.
/ 20 yards of parapet thickened two feet.
F 10/5 I 2 dug-outs completed.
' 20 yards of fire-step built.
J. B. P. Adams, Lt.,
O.C. " B " Coy.
CHAPTER XI
"WHOM THE GODS LOVE"— {continued)
A
S I write I feel inclined to throw the whole
book in the fire. It seems a desecration to
tell of these things. Do I not seem to be
exulting in the tragedy ? Should not he who feels
deeply keep silent ? Sometimes I think so. And
yet it is the truth, word for word the truth ; so I
must write it.
In the Straw Palace next morning Davidson and
I were sitting discussing last night, when the doctor
looked in. He started talking about Vermorel
sprayers (the portable tins shaped like large oval
milk-cans, filled with a solution useful for clearing
dug-outs after a gas attack). One of these was
damaged, and I had sent down a note to the M.O.
about it.
" How's Robertson ? " I asked at once.
" He died this morning, Bill — three o'clock this
morning."
" Good God," I said.
" Pretty ghastly, isn't it ? Two officers like that
in one night. The CO. is awfully cut up about it."
" Robertson dead ? " said Davidson.
And so we talked for some minutes. The old
182 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
doctor was used to these things. He had seen so
many officers fall out of line. But to us this was
new, and we had not gauged it yet. You might have
thought from his quiet jerky sentences that the
doctor was almost callous. You would have been
wrong.
" Well, I must get on," he said at last. " So
long, Bill. Send that Vermorel sprayer down, will
you, and I'll see to it, and you'll have it back to-
night, probably."
" Righto." And the doctor and his orderly dis-
appeared down the Old Kent Road.
Davidson and I talked alone.
" It must be pretty rotten being an M.O.," he
remarked.
Then the " F.L.O." came in. He is the " Forward
liaison officer," an artilleiy officer who lives up with
the infantry and facilitates co-operation between
the two. At the same moment came a cheery
Scotch voice outside, and Macfarlane, the " foot-
ball " officer, looked in.
" Come oot a' that ! " he cried. " Sittin' indoors
on a fine mornin'."
" Come in," we said.
But his will prevailed, and we all came out into
the sunshine. I had not seen him since last night's
little show. Now he was being relieved by another
officer for six days, and I was anxious to know
what sort of a man was his successor. But Macfar-
lane did not know much about him yet.
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 183
"Anyway," said 1, "if he'll only fire like you,
we don't mind."
" Och I " grunted Macfarlane. " What's the use
of havin' a gun, and no firin' it ? So long as I get
ma footballs up, I'll plunk them over aw recht."
" Yes," I added. " The Boche doesn't approve
of your sort."
For there were other sorts. There was the trench-
mortar officer who was never to be found, but who
left a sergeant with instructions not to fire without
his orders ; there was the trench-mortar officer
who "could not fire except by Brigade orders";
there was the trench-mortar officer who was "afraid
of giving his position away " ; there was the trench-
mortar officer who " couldn't get any ammunition
up, you know ; they won't give it me ; only too
pleased to fire, if only . . ." ; there was the trench-
mortar officer who started firing on his own, without
consulting the company commander, just when you
had a big working-party in the front trenches ;
and lastly there were trench-mortar officers Hke
Davidson and Macfarlane.
" Cheero, then," we said, as Macfarlane went off.
" Look us up. You know our billet ? We'll be out
to-morrow."
Then we finished our consultation and divided off
to our different jobs.
All that day I felt that there was in me some-
thing which by all rights should have " given " :
these two deaths should have made me feel different :
184 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
and yet I was just the same. As I went round the
trench, with Da vies at my heels, talking to platoon-
sergeants, examining wire through my periscope,
all in the ordinary way exactly as before, I forgot
all about Tommy and Robertson. Even when I came
to the place where Robertson had been hit, and
saw the blood on the fire-step, and some scraps of
cotton wool lying about, I looked at it as you might
look at a smashed egg on the pavement, curiously,
and then passed on. " Am I indifferent to these
things, then ? " I asked myself. I had not realised
yet that violent emotion very rarely comes close
upon the heels of death, that there is a numbness,
a blunting of the spirit, that is an anodyne to pain.
I was ashamed of my indifference ; yet I soon saw
that it was no uncommon thing. Besides, one had
to " carry on " just the same. There was always a
silence among the men, when a pal " goes west " ;
so now Edwards and I did not talk much, except
to discuss the ordinary routine.
I did not get much rest that day. In the after-
noon came up a message from the adjutant that
we were exploding a mine opposite the Matterhorn
at 6.30 ; our trench was to be cleared from 80 A
to the bombing-post on the left of the Loop in-
clusive. Edwards and I were the only officers in
the company, so while he arranged matters with
the Lewis-gun teams, I went off to see about getting
the trench cleared. I had just sent off the " daily
summary," my copy of which is reproduced on
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 185
page 179. As I came back along 78 Street, I met
Davidson again. He was looking for a new site
for his gun, so as to be able to get a good fire to
bear on the German lines opposite the Matterhorn.
I went with him, and together we found a place
behind the big mine-dump to the left of 78 Street,
and close to one of our rifle-grenade batteries. As
he went off to get his corporal and team to bring
the gun over and fix it in position, he said something
in a rather low voice.
" What ? " I shouted. " Couldn't hear."
He came back and repeated it.
" Oh," I said. " Sorry. Yes, all right. I expect
I'll hear from the Adjutant. Thanks."
What he said was that there would be a funeral
that night at nine o'clock. Thompson and Robert-
son were being buried together. He thought I
would like to know.
It was close on half-past six, and getting dark.
The trenches were cleared, and I was waiting at
the head of two platoons that strung out along 78
Street and behind the Loop. Rifles had been in-
spected ; the men had the S.A.A. (small arms
ammunition) and bomb boxes with them, ready to
take back into the trench as soon as the mine had
gone up. I looked at my watch.
" Another minute," I said.
Then, as I spoke, the earth shook ; there was a
pause, and a great black cloud burst into the air,
followed by a roar of flames. I got up on the fire-
186 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
step to see it better. It is a good show, a mine.
There was the sound of falHng earth, and then
silence.
" Come on," I said, and we hurried back into the
trench. Weird and eerie it looked in the half-
light ; its emptiness might have been years old.
It was undamaged, as we had expected ; only there
was loose earth scattered all over the parapet and
fire-step.
Then hell broke loose, a crashing, banging, flash-
ing hell that concentrated on the German front line
directly opposite. It seemed like stirring up an
ant's nest, and then spraying them with boiling
water as they ran about in confusion !
" Bang — bang — bang — bang — bang," barked
Davidson's gun.
" Thud," muttered the football-thrower.
" Wheep ! Wee-oo, wee-oo, wee-oo," went the
rifle grenades. And all this splendid rain burst with
a glorious splash just over the new crater. It was
magnificent shooting, and half of us were up on
the fire-step watching the fireworks.
Then the Boche retaliated, with canisters and
whizz-bangs, and " heavies " for Maple Redoubt ;
and then our guns joined the concert. It was " hot
shop " for half an hour, but at last it died down
and there was a great calm. Some of the men were
in the trenches for the first time, and had not
relished the proceedings overmuch ! They were
relieved to get the order " Stand down ! "
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 187
There were several things to be done, working-
parties to be arranged, final instructions given to
a patrol, Lewis gunners to be detailed to rake the
German parapet opposite the Matterhorn all night.
A platoon sergeant was worried about his sentries ;
he had not enough men, having had one or two
casualties ; and I had to lend him men from a
more fortunate platoon. It was quite dark, and
nearly half-past seven by the time I got back to
Trafalgar Square. Edwards had started dinner,
as he was on trench duty at eight o'clock. The
sergeant-major was on duty until then.
Davidson looked in on his way down to Maple
Redoubt.
" I say, your Stokes were bursting top-hole. We
had a splendid view."
"They weren't going short, were they?" he
asked.
"No. Just right. The fellows were awfully
bucked with it."
" Oh, good. You can't see a bit from where we
are, and the corporal said he thought they were
going short. But I'd worked out the range and was
firing well over 120, so I carried on. I'm going down
to have dinner with O'Brien. I think we've done
enough to-night."
Then I saw that he was tired out.
" Rather a hot shop ? " I asked.
" Yes," he said in his casual way. " They were
all round us. Well, cheero ! I shan't be up till
188 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
about ten, I expect, unless there's anything
wanted."
" Cheero ! "
" It's no joke firing that gun with the Boche
potting at you hard with canisters," I said to
Edwards, as Davidson's footsteps died away.
"He's the bravest fellow in the regiment," said
Edwards, and we talked of the time when the gun
burst in his face as he was firing it, and he told his
men that it had been hit by a canister, to prevent
their losing confidence in it. I saw him just after-
wards : his face was bleeding. It was no joke being
Stokes officer ; the Germans hated those vicious
snapping bolts that spat upon them " One, two,
three, four, five," and always concentrated their
fire against his gun. But they had not got him.
" No, he's inside," I heard Edwards saying.
" Bill. Telephone message."
The telephone orderly handed me a pink form.
Edwards was outside, just about to go on trench
duty. It was eight. I went outside. It was bright
moonlight again. Grimly, I thought of last night.
"Look here," I said. "There's this funeral at
nine o'clock. I've just 'got this message. One
officer from each company may go. Will you go ?
I can't very well go as O.C. Company." And I
handed him the pink form to see.
So we rearranged the night duties, and Edwards
went off till half -past eight, while I finished my
dinner. Lewis was hovering about with toasted
"WHOM THE GODS LOVE" 189
cheese and cajt' au lait. As I swallowed these
glutinous concoctions, the candle flickered and
went out. I pushed open the door : the moonlight
flooded in, and I did not trouble to call for another
candle. Then I heard the sergeant-major's voice,
and went out. We stood talking at Trafalgar
Square.
" Shan't be sorry to get relieved to-morrow," I
said. I was tired, and I wondered how long the
night would take to pass.
Suddenly, up the Old Kent Road I heard a man
running. My heart stopped. I hate the sound of
running in a trench, and last night they had run
for stretcher-bearers when Robertson was hit. I
looked at the sergeant-major, who was biting his
lip, his ears cocked. Round the corner a man bolted,
out of breath, excited. I stopped him ; he nearly
knocked into us.
" Hang you," said I. " Stop ! Where the
devil . . . ? "
" Mr. Davidson, sir . . . Mr. Davidson is killed."
" Rot I " I said, impatiently^ " Pull yourself
together, man. He's all right. I saw him only
half an hour ago."
But as I spoke, something broke inside me. It
was as if I were straining, beating against some-
thing relentless. As though by words, by the cry
'• impossible " I could beat back the flood of con-
viction that the man's words brought over me.
Dead 1 I knew he was dead.
190 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" Impossible, corporal," I said. " What do you
mean ? " For I saw now that it was Davidson's
corporal who stood gazing at me with fright in his
eyes.
He pulled himself together at last.
" Killed, sir. It came between us as we were
talking. A whizz-bang, sir."
" My God ! " I cried. " Where ? "
" Just at the bottom, sir " — the man jerked his
hand back down Old Kent Road. " We were just
talking, sir. My leave has come through, and he
was joking, and saying his would be through soon,
when . . . oh, Jesus ... I was half blinded. . . .
I've not got over it yet, sir." And the man was all
trembling as he spoke.
" He was killed instantly ? "
" Ach ! " said the man. He made a gesture with
his hands. " It burst right on him."
" Poor fellow," I said. God knows what I meant.
" Send a man with him, sergeant-major," I added,
and plunged up 76 Street.
" Davidson," I cried. " Davidson dead ! "
It was close on midnight, as I stood outside the
Straw Palace. Lewis brought me a cup of cocoa,
I drank it in silence, and ate a piece of cake. I
told the man to go to bed. Then, when he had dis-
appeared, I climbed up out of the trench, and sat,
my legs dangling down into it. Down in the trench
the moon cast deep black shadows. I looked around.
"WTIOM THE GODS LOVE" 191
All was bathed in pale, shimmery moonlight. There
was a great silence, save for distant machine-gun
popping down in the Fricourt valley, and the very
distant sound of guns, guns, guns — the sound that
never stops day and night. I pressed on my right
hand and with a quick turn was up on my feet out
of the trench, on the hill-side ; for I was just over
the brow, on the reverse slope, and out of sight of
the enemy lines. I took off my steel helmet and put
it on the ground, while I stretched out my arms
and clenched my hands.
" So this is War," I thought. I realised that my
teeth were set, and my mouth hard, and my eyes,
though full of sleep, wide open : silently I took
in the great experience, the death of those well-
loved. For of all men in the battalion I loved
Davidson best. Not that I knew him so wonder-
fully well — but . . . well, one always had to smile
when he came in ; he was so good-natured, so
young, so dehghtfully imperturbable. He used to
come in and stroke your hair if you were bad-
tempered. Somehow he reminded me of a cat
purring ; and perhaps his hair and his smile had
something to do with it ? Oh, who can define what
they love in those they love ?
And then my mind went back over all the in-
cidents of the last few hours. Together we had
been through it all : together we had discussed
death : and last of all I thought how he had told
me of the funeral that was to be at 9 o'clock. And
192 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
now he lay beside them. All three had been buried
at nine o'clock,
" Dead. Dead," said a voice within me. And
still I did not move. Still that numbness, that
dulness, that tightening across the brain and
senses. This, too, was something new. Then I
looked around me, across the moorland. I walked
along until I could see down over Maple Redoubt
and across the valley, where there seemed a slight
white mist ; or was it only moonshine ?
Suddenly, " Strength." I answered the voice.
" Strong. I am strong." Every muscle in my
body was tinghng at my bidding. I felt an iron
strength. All this tautness, this numbness, was
strength. I remembered last night, the feeling of
irresistible will-power, and my eyes glowed. I
thought of Davidson, and my eyes glistened : the
very pain was the birth of new strength.
Then, even as the strength came, I heard a thud,
and away on the left a canister blazed into the air,
climbed, swooped, and rushed. And the vulgar
din of its bursting rent all the stillness of the night.
A second followed suit. And as it, too, burst, it
seemed a clumsy mocking at me, a mocking that
ran in echoes all along the still valley.
" Strength," it sneered. " Strength."
And all my iron will seemed beating against a
wall of steel, that must in the end wear me down
in a useless battering.
" War," I cried. " How can my will batter
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE " 193
against war ? " I thought of Davidson's smiling
face ; and then I thought of the bhnd clumsy
canister. And I felt unutterably weak and power-
less. What did it matter what I thought or did,
whether I was weak or strong ? What power had
I against this irresistible impersonal machine^ this
war ? And I remembered how an hour or so ago
the trench-mortar officer had asked me whether I
wanted him to fire or not, and I had answered,
" Good God ! Do as you d — d well like." What
did it matter what he did ? Yet, last night it had
seemed to matter everything.
Slowly there came into my mind that picture
that later has come to mean to me the true ex-
pression of war. Only slowly it came now, a
half-formed image of what my spirit alone under-
stood.
" A certain man drew a bow at a venture," I
thought. What of those shells that I had called
down last night at my bidding, standing Hke a god,
intoxicated with power, and crying " Retaliate.
More retaliation." Where did they fall ? Were
other men lying as Davidson lay to-night ? Had I
called down death ? Had I stricken famihes ?
Probably. Nay, more than probably. Certainly.
Death. Blind death. That was it. Blind death.
And all the time above me was the white moon.
I looked at the shadows of my arms as I held them
out. Such shadows belonged to summer nights in
England ... in Kent. . . . Oh ! why was every-
13
194 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
thing so silent ? Could nothing stop this utter
folly, this cruel madness, this clumsy death ?
And then, at last, the strain gave a little, and my
muscles relaxed. I went back and took up my
helmet.
" Dead," the voice repeated within me. And this
time my spirit found utterance :
" Damn ! " I said. " Oh damn ! damn ! Damn ! "
[Copy]
Special Report — C i Section (Left
Company)
The mine exploded by us opposite 80 A at 6.30
p.m. last night has exposed about 20 yards of
German parapet. A working-party attempting to
work there about 12.30 a.m. and again at 2 a.m.
was dispersed at once by our rifle and Lewis-gun
fire. The parapet has been built up sufficiently to
prevent our seeing over it, sand-bags having been
put up from inside the trench. Our snipers are
closely watching this spot.
J. B. P. Adams, Lieut.
O.C. " B " Coy.
6.30 a.m. 20.3.16.
CHAPTER XII
OFFICERS' SERVANTS
" ¥ A OOR devils on sentry," said Dixon. He
I shut the door quickly and came over to
-»- the fire. Outside was a thick blizzard,
and it was biting cold. He sat down on the bed
nearest the fire and got warm again.
" Look here, Bill, can't we possibly get any
coal ? "
" We sent a fellow into Bray," I answered,
" but it's very doubtful if he'll get any. Anyway
we'll see."
Tea was finished. The great problem was fuel.
There were no trees or houses anywhere near 71
North, We had burnt two solid planks during the
day ; these had been procured by the simple ex-
pedient of getting a lance-corporal to march four
men to the R.E. dump, select two planks, and
march them back again. But by now the planks
had surely been missed, and it would be extremely
risky to repeat the experiment, even after dark.
So a man had been despatched to Bray to try and
purchase a sack of coal ; also, I had told the Mess-
sergeant to try and buy one for us, and bring it up
with the rations. This also was a doubtful quantity.
195
196 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
Meanwhile, we had a great blaze going, and were
making the most of it.
I was writing letters ; Dixon was reading ; Nicol-
son was seeing to the rum ration ; Clark was
singing, " Now Neville was a devil," and showing
his servant Brady how to " make " a hammock.
Brady was a patient disciple, but his master had
slept in a hammock for the first time in his life the
night before and consequently was not a very clear
exponent of the art. Apparently certain things
that happened last night must be avoided to-night ;
how they were to be avoided was left to Brady's
ingenuity. Every attempt on his part to solve the
problems put before him was carefully tested by
Clark, and accepted or condemned according to its
merit under the strain of Clark's body. At such
times of testing the strains of " Neville was a
devil " would cease. At last Brady hit on some
lucky adjustment, and the occupant pronounced
his position to be first rate. Then Brady dis-
appeared behind the curtain that screened the ser-
vants' quarters, and the song proceeded uninter-
ruptedly,
" Now Neville was a devil
A perfect little devil " ;
and Clark rocked himself contentedly into a state
of restful slumber.
Meanwhile, behind the arras the retainers pre-
pared their masters' meal. This dug-out was of
the " tubular " pattern, a succession of quarter
OFFICERS' SERVANTS 197
circles of black iron riveted together at the top,
and so forming a long tube, one end of which was
bricked up and had a brick chimney with two
panes of glass on each side of it ; the other led into
a small wooden dug-out curtained off. Here abode
five servants and an orderly. I should here state that
this dug-out was the most comfortable I have ever
lived in ; as a matter of fact it was not a dug-out at
all, but being placed right under the steep bank at
71 North it was practically immune from shelling.
The brick chimney and the glass window-panes were
certainly almost unique : one imagined it must
have been built originally by the R.E.'s for their own
abode ! Along the sides were four beds of wire-
netting stretched over a wooden frame with a layer
of empty sand-bags for mattress. In the centre was
a wooden table. Over this table, in air suspended,
floated Clark.
Meanwhile, as above stated, behind the arras the
retainers prepared their masters' meal, with such-
like comments —
" Who's going for rations to-night ? "
" It's Lewis's turn to-night, and Smith's."
" All right, sergeant."
" Gr-r-r " (uninteUigible).
" Where's Dodger ? "
" Out chasing them hares. Didn't you hear the
Captain say he'd be for it, if he didn't get one ? "
" Gr-r-r. He won't get any hares."
Here followed a pause, and a lot of noise of
198 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
plates and boxes being moved. Then there was a
continued crackHng of wood, as the fire was made
up. Followed a lot of coughing, and muttering,
and " Phew ! " as the smoke got too thick even for
that smoke-hardened crew.
" Phew ! Stop it. Jesus Christ."
More coughing, the door was opened, and soon
a cold draught sped into our dug-out. There was
but one door for both.
" Shut that door ! " I shouted.
" Hi, Lewis, your bloke's calhng. Said, ' Shut
that door.' "
Then the door shut. More coughing ensued, but
the smoke was better, apparently, for it soon ceased.
We were each, by the way, " my bloke " to our
respective retainers.
The conversation remained for some time at an
inaudible level, until I heard the door open again,
and a shout of " Hullo ! Dodger. Coo ! Jesus
Christ ! He's all right, isn't he ? There's a job for
you, sergeant, cooking that bloke. Has the Captain
seen him ? Hey ! Look out of that ! You'll have
the blood all over the place. Get a bit of paper."
The " sergeant " (Private Gray) made no com-
ments on the prospect of cooking the " Dodger's "
quarry, and the next minute Private Davies,
orderly, appeared with glowing though rather
dirty face holding up a large hare, that dripped gore
from its mouth into a scrunched-up ball of Daily
Mail held to its nose like a pocket-handkerchief.
OFFICERS' SERVANTS 199
" Look here, Dixon," I said.
" Devil's alive," exclaimed Dixon. " Then you've
got one. By Jove ! Splendid ! I say, isn't he a
beauty ? " And we all went up and examined him.
He was a hare of the first order. To-morrow he
should be the chef d'cBuvre in " B " Company mess
at Morlancourt. For we went out of reserve into
billets the next morning.
" How did you get him, Da vies ? "
" Oh ! easy enough, sir. I'll get another if you
like. There's a lot of them sitting out in the snow
there. I was only about fifty yards off. He don't
get much chance with a rifle, sir." (Here his voice
broke into a laugh.) " It's not what you call much
sport for him, sir ! I got this too, sir ! "
And lo ! and behold ! a plump partridge !
" Oh ! they're as tame as anything, and you
can't help getting them in this snow," he said.
At last the dripping hare was removed from the
stage to behind the scenes, and Davies joined the
smothered babel behind the arras.
" Wonderful fellow, old Davies," said Dixon.
" By the way, Bill," he added. " How about
getting the little doctor in to-night for a hand of
vingt-et-un ? Can we manage it all right ? "
I was Mess-president for the time, Edwards
being away on a course.
" Oh ! yes," I answered. " Rather. I'll send
a note."
As I was writing a rather elaborate note (having
200 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
nothing better to do) requesting the pleasure of the
distinguished presence of the medical officer, the
man who had been to Bray for coal came and
reported a fruitless errand. He seemed very de-
pressed at his failure, but cheered up when we gave
him a tot of rum to warm him up. (All rum, by
the way, is kept in the company officer's dug-out ;
it is the only way.)
Meanwhile, the problem of fuel must be faced.
A log was crackling away merrily enough, but it
was the very last. Something must be done.
" Davies," I called out.
" Sir ? " came back in that higher key of his.
He appeared at the door.
" Are you going down for rations ? "
" Yes, sir."
" Well, look here. There's a sack of coal ordered
from Sergeant Johnson, but I'm none too sure it'll
come up to-night. I only ordered it yesterday.
But I want you to make sure you get it if it is there ;
in fact you must bring it, whether it's there or not.
See ? If you don't, you'll be for it."
This threat Davies took for what it was worth.
But he answered :
" I'll get it, sir. I'll bring something along
somehow."
And Davies never failed of his word.
" Good ! Do what you can."
Half an hour later he staggered in with a sack of
coal, and plumped it down, all covered \y^ith snow.
OFFICERS' SERVANTS 201
The fire was burning very low, and we were looking
at it anxiously. The sight of this new supply of
fuel was wonderful good to the eyes. So busy were
we in stoking up, that we forgot to ask Davies if
he had had any trouble in getting it. After all, it
did not matter much. There was the coal ; that
■was the point.
Behind the curtain there was a great business.
Lewis and Brady had brought up the rations ;
Gray was busy with a big stew, and Richards was
apparently engaged in getting out plates and knives
and forks from a box ; Davies was reading aloud,
in the middle of the chaos, from the Daily Mail.
Sometimes the Mess-president took it into his head
to inspect the servants' dug-out ; but it was an
unwise procedure, for it took away the relish of the
meal, if you saw the details of its preparation. So
long as it was served up tolerably clean, one should
be satisfied.
At half-past seven came in Richards to lay the
table. The procedure of this was first to take all
articles on the table and dump them on the nearest
bed. Then a knife, fork, and spoon were put to
each place, and a varied collection of tin mugs and
glasses arranged likewise ; then came salt and
mustard in glass potted-meat jars ; bread sitting
bareback on the newspaper tablecloth ; and a
bottle of O.V.H. and two bottles of Perrier to crown
the feast. All this was arranged with a dehberate
smile, as by one who knew the exact value of
202 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
things, and defied instruction in any detail of laying
a table. Richards was an old soldier, and he had
won from Dixon at first unbounded praise ; but he
had been found to possess a lot too much talk at
present, and had been sat on once or twice fairly
heavily of late. So now he wore the face of one who
was politely amused, yet, knowing his own worth,
could forbear from malice. He gave the table a
last look with his head on one side, and then de-
parted in silence.
Suddenly the door flew open, and the doctor
burst in, shuddering, and knocking the snow oft
his cap.
" By Jove, Dicker," he cried. " A bad night to
go about paying joy visits. But, by Jove, I'm jolly
glad you asked me. There's the devil to pay up at
headquarters. The C.O.'s raving, simply. Some
blighter has pinched our coal, and there's none to
be got anywhere. Good Lord, it's too hot altogether.
I couldn't stand Mess there to-night at any price.
I pity old Dale. The C.O.'s been swearing like a
trooper ! He's fair mad."
" Never mind," he added after a pause. " I
think we've raised enough wood to cook the dinner
all right. See you've got coal all right."
I hoped to goodness Dixon wouldn't put his foot
in it. But he rose to the occasion and said :
"Oh, yes. We ordered some coal from Sergeant
Johnson. Come on, let's start. Hi ! Richards ! "
And Richards came in with the stew in a tin jug
OFFICERS' SERVANTS 203
such as is used in civilised lands to hold hot water
of a morning. And so the doctor forgot the Colonel's
rage.
Late that night, after the doctor had gone, I
called Da vies.
" Da vies," I said, "where did you get that
coal ? "
" Off the ration cart, sir."
" Was it ours, do you think ? "
" Well, sir, I don't somehow think it was. You
see, the ration cart came up, and the man driving
it was up by the horse — and I saw the bag o' coal
there, like. So I said to Lewis, ' Lewis, you see to
the rations. I'll take the coal up quick ! ' Then
I heard the man up by the horse say, ' There's
coal there for headquarters.' ' Oh, yes,' I said,
* that's all right, but this here was ordered off
Sergeant Johnson yesterday,' I said. And I made
off quick."
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed. "Was Sergeant
Johnson there ? "
" No," answered Davies. " He came later. I
said to Lewis just now, ' What about that coal ? '
And he said Sergeant Johnson came just after and
started kicking up some bit of a row, sir, about
some coal ; but Lewis, he said he didn't know
nothing about any coal, and the man at the horse
be didn't know who I was, sir ; it was quite dark,
you see, sir. Lewis said Sergeant Johnson got the
wind up a bit, sir, about losing the coal . . ."
204 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" Look here Da vies," I remarked solemnly, " do
you realise that that coal was for headquarters . . ."
" I couldn't say, sir," began Davies.
" But I can," said I. " Look here, you must
just set a limit somewhere. I know I said you must
get some coal, somewhere. But I wasn't exactly
thinking of bagging the C.O.'s coal. As a matter
of fact he was slightly annoyed, though doubtless
if he knew it was No. 14 Davies, "B" Company
orderly, he would abate his wrath. Do you realise
this is a very serious offence ? "
Davies' mouth wavered. He could never quite
understand this method of procedure. He looked
at the blazing fire, and his eyes twinkled. Then he
understood.
" Yes, sir," he said.
" All right," I replied. " Don't let it occur
again."
And it never did — at least, not headquarters coal.
We did not get back to Morlancourt till nearly
half-past three the next day. Things were not
going well in our billet at the butcher's shop.
Gray, the cook, and two of the servants had been
sent on early to get the valises from the quarter-
master's stores, and to have a meal ready. We
arrived to find no meal ready, and what was worse,
the stove not lit. Coal could not be had from the
stores, was the statement that greeted us.
" What the blazes do you mean ? " shouted
OFFICERS' SERVANTS 206
Dixon. We were really angry as well as ravenous ;
for it was freezing hard, and the tiles on the floor
seemed to radiate ice-waves.
" Have you asked Madame if she can lend us a
little to go on with ? " I queried.
No, they had not asked Madame.
Then followed a blaze of vituperation, and
Richards was sent at the double into the kitchen.
Soon Madame appeared, with sticks and coal,
and lit the fire. We watched the crackles, too cold
to do anything else. The adjoining room, where
Dixon and I slept, was an ice-house, also tiled.
It was too cold to talk even.
" C'est froid dans les tranches," said I in exe-
crable French.
" Mais oui, m'sieur I'officier," said Madame,
deeply sympathising.
I thought of the blazing fire in 71 North, but it
was too cold to say anything more. Wliat matter
if Madame imagined us standing in a foot of snow ?
So we should have been for the most part had we
been in the line the last two days, instead of in
reserve.
Soon it began to get less icy, and the stove looked
a little less of the blacklead order. It was a kitchen-
range really, with a boiler and oven ; but the
boiler was rather leaky. Now, as the coal blazed up,
life began to ebb back again.
Confound it ! The stove was smoking like fury.
Pah I The flues were all full of soot. Dixon was
206 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
rather an expert on stoves, and said that all that
was needed was a brush. Where had all the ser-
vants disappeared to ? Why wasn't someone there ?
I opened the door into our bedroom — a cold blast
struck me in the face. In the middle of the room,
unopened, sat our two valises, like desert islands in
a sea of red tiles.
" Hang it all, this is the limit," I said, and ran
out into the street, and into the next house, where
the servants' quarters were. And there, in the
middle of a pile of half-packed boxes, stood Gray,
eating a piece of bread. Now I discovered after-
wards that the boxes had just been brought in by
Cody and Lewis, that Da vies and Richards had gone
after the coal, and were at that moment staggering
under the weight of it on their way from the stores,
and that Gray could not do anything more, having
unpacked the boxes, until the coal came. But I
did not grasp these subtle details of the interior
economy of the servants' hall, and I broke out into
a real hot strafe. Why should Gray be standing
there eating, while the officers shivered and starved ?
I returned to Dixon, and found Clark and Nicol-
son there ; and together we all fumed. Then in
came the post-corporal with an accumulation of
parcels, and we stopped fuming.
" By Jove," I exclaimed, a few minutes later.
" The hare. I had forgotten le — what is it, lievre,
levre ? I forget. Never mind. Lewis, bring the
hare along, and ask Madame in your best manner
OFFICERS' SERVANTS 207
if she would do us the honour of cooking it for us.
To-night, now,"
Presently Madame came in, with Lewis standing
rather sheepishly behind. She delivered a tornado
of very fluent French : " eau-de-vie," " eau-de-
vie," was all I could disentangle.
" Eau-de-vie ? " I asked her. " Pourquoi eau-
de-vie ? "
" Brandy," explained Dixon.
" I know that," said I (who did not know that
eau-de-vie was brandy ?)
" Brandy," said Dixon, " to cook the hare with.
That's all she wants. Oui, oui, Madame. Eau-de-
vie. Tout de suite. The doctor's got brandy.
Send Lewis along to the doctor to ask him to dinner,
and borrow a httle brandy."
So Lewis was despatched, and returned with a
little brandy, but the doctor could not come.
" Never mind," we said.
Meanwhile some tea was on the table, and bully
and bread and butter ; there was no sugar, how-
ever. Richards smiled and said the rats had eaten
it all in 71 North, but Davies was buying some.
Whenever anything was missing, these rats had
eaten it, just as they were responsible for men's
equipment and packs getting torn, and their
emergency rations lost. In many cases the excuse
was quite a just one ; but when it came to rats
running off with canteen hds, our sympathy for the
rat-ridden Tommy was not always very strong.
208 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
To-day, a new reason was found for the loss of
three teaspoons.
" Lost in the scuffle, sir, the night of the raid,"
was the answer given to the demand for an ex-
planation.
" What scuffle ? " I asked.
" Why, the box got upset, sir, the night of the
raid when we all stood to in a bit of a hurry, sir."
I remembered there had been some confusion
and noise behind the arras that night when the
Germans raided on the left ; apparently all the
knives and forks had fallen to the ground and
several had snapped under the martial trampling
of feet when our retainers stood to arms. For many
days afterwards when anything was lost, one's
anger was appeased by " Lost in the scuffle, sir."
At last it got too much of a good thing.
" Why this new teapot, Da vies ? " I said a few
days later.
" The old one was lost in the scuffle, sir."
" Look here," I said. " We had the old one
yesterday, and this morning I saw it broken on
Madame's manure heap. Here endeth ' lost in the
scuffle.' See ? Go back to rats."
" Very good, sir."
That night, about ten o'clock, when Clark, Nicol-
son, and Brownlow (who had been our guest) had
gone back to their respective billets, Dixon and I
were sitting in front of the stove, our feet up on
the brass bar that ran along the top-front of it, on
OFFICERS' SERVANTS 209
a comfortable red-plush settee. This settee made
amends for very many things, such as : a tile
floor ; four doors, one of which scraped most
excruciatingly over the tiles, and another being
glass-panelled allowed in much cold air from the
butcher's shop ; no entry for the servants save
either through the butcher's shop or through the
bedroom via the open window ; very little room to
turn round in, when we were all there ; a smell of
stale lard that permeated the whole establishment ;
and finally, the necessity of moving the settee every
time Madame or Mam'selle wanted to get to either
the cellar or the stairs.
But now all these disabilities were removed,
everyone else having gone off to bed, and Dixon and
I were talking lazily before turning in also. I had
a large pan of boihng water waiting on the top of
the range, and my canvas bath was all ready in the
next room.
" Ah ! the discomfort of it ! " ejaculated Dixon.
" The terrible discomfort of it all ! "
" How they are pitying us at home," I replied.
" ' Those rabbit holes ! I can't think how you keep
the water out of them at all ! ' Can't you hear
them ? ' And isn't that bully beef most horribly
tough and hard ! Ugh ! I couldn't bear it,' " I
tried to imitate a lady's voice, but it was not a
great success. I was out of practice.
" Yes," said Dixon, thinking of the extraordinarily
good jugged hare produced by Madame. Then
14
210 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
his thoughts turned to Da vies, the hunter who was
responsible for the feast.
" Wonderful fellow, old Da vies," he added. " In
fact they're all good fellows."
" He's a shepherd boy," I said. " Comes from
Blaenau Festiniog, a little village right up in the
Welsh mountains. I know the place. A few years
ago he was a boy looking after sheep out on the
hills all day ; a wide-eyed Welsh boy, with a sheep-
dog trotting behind him. He's rather hke a sheep-
dog himself, isn't he ? "
" Gad, he's a wonderful fellow. But they all
are, you know, Bill. Look at your chap, Lewis ;
great clumsy red-faced fellow, with his piping voice,
that sometimes gets on your nerves."
"He's too lazy at times," I broke in; "but he's
honest, dead honest. He was a farm hand ! Good
heavens, fancy choosing a fellow out of the farm-
yard to act as valet and waiter ! I remember the
first time he waited ! He was so nervous he nearly
dropped everything, and his face like that fire!
O'Brien said he was tight ! "
" Richards talks a jolly sight too much, some-
times— but after all what does it matter ? They
try their best ; and think how we curse them !
Look at the way I cursed about that stove this
afternoon : as soon as anything goes wrong, we
strafe like blazes, whether it's their fault or not.
A fellow in England would resign on the spot. But
they don't care a damn, and just carry on. This
OFFICERS' SERVANTS 211
cursing's no good. Bill. Hang it all, they're doing
their bit same as we are, and they have a d — d
sight harder time."
" I don't think they worry much about the
strafing," I said. " It's part of the ordinary routine '
Still, I agree, we do strafe them for thousands o^
things that aren't their fault."
" They're a sort of safety-valve," he answered
with a laugh. " I don't know how it is, one would
never dream of cursing the men like we do these
fellows. You know as well as I do. Bill, the only
way to run a company is by love. It's no earthly
use trying to get the men behind you, by cursing
them day and night. I really must try and stop
cursing these servants. After all, they're the best
fellows in the world."
" The men curse all right," I said, " when they
don't get their food right. I guess we're all animal,
after all. It's merely a method of getting things
done quickly. Besides, you know perfectly well
you won't be able to stop blazing away when there's
no fire or food. It creates an artificial warmth."
" D — d artificial," laughed he.
There was a silence.
" By Jove, Bill," he said at last, getting up to go
to bed. " When's this war going to end ? "
To which I made no reply, but moved my bath
out of the icy bedroom and dragged it in front of
the fire.
CHAPTER XIII
MINES
THE Colonel wants to speak to O.C. ' B,'
sir." It was midday.
" It's about that wire," said Edwards.
" But we couldn't get any more out without
stakes."
" Oh, I don't expect it's about the wire," I said,
as I hurried out of the Straw Palace. " The CO.
knows we can't get the stakes."
No, it was nothing to do with the wire.
" Just a minute, sir," said the telephone orderly.
" Hi ! Headquarters. Is that you, George ? O.C.
' B's ' here now. Just a minute, sir."
A pause, followed by :
" Commanding Officer, sir," and I was handed
the receiver.
" Yes, sir," I said. " This is Adams."
" Oh ! that you, Adams ? Well, look here —
about this mine going up to-night. Got your map
there ? Well, the mining officer is here now, and
he says . . . Look here, you'd better come down
here now. Yes, come here now."
MINES 213
" Very good, sir," but the CO. had rung off with
a jerk, and only a singing remained in my ears.
" Got to go down and explain in person why the
officer in charge of ' B ' Company wirers did not
get out twenty coils last night," I said to Edwards
as I hurried off down Old Kent Road. "The C.O.'s
in an ' I gave a distinct order ' mood. Cheero ! "
On entering the Headquarters' dug-out in Maple
Redoubt, I found the CO. engaged in conversation
with an artillery officer : there had been another
raid last night on the left, and our artillery had
sent a lot of stuff over. This was the subject under
discussion.
" I think you did d — d well," said the CO. as
the officer left. " Well, Adams, I thought it would
be easiest if you came down. Here's our friend
from the underworld, and he'll explain exactly
what he's going to do " ; and I saw the R.E.
officer for the first time. He had been standing
in the gloom of the further end of the dug-out.
" Look here," began the Colonel, as he laid out
the trench map on the table. " Here is where we
blow to-night at 6.0 " (and he made a pencil dot
in the middle of the grass of No Man's Land mid-
way between the craters opposite the Loop and
the Fort. See Map III). " And here, all round
here " (he drew his pencil round and round in a
blacker and yet blacker circle) " is roughly where
the edge of the crater will come. Isn't that right,
Armstrong ? "
214 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" Yes," was the reply, " the crater edge won't
come right up to the front trench, but I don't
want anyone in the front trench, as it will probably
be squeezed up in one or two places."
" Exactly," said the Colonel. " Do you think
this blow will completely connect up the two craters
on either side ? "
" Oh, certainly," was the answer. " There's no
question of it. You see, we've put in (here followed
figures and explosives incomprehensible to the lay
mind). " It'll be the biggest mine we've ever blown
in this sector."
" A surface mine, I suppose ? " I asked.
" Almost certainly," said the R.E. officer. " You
see, their gallery is only ten feet above ours, and
they might blow any minute. But they're still
working. We wanted to get another twenty feet
out before blowing, but it isn't safe. Anyway, we
are bound to smash up all their galleries there
completely, though I doubt if we touch their
parapet at all." He spoke almost impatiently, as
one who talks of things that have been his main
interest for weeks, and tries to explain the whole
thing in a few words. " But," he added, " I don't
want any men in that trench."
The mining officers always presumed that the
infantry clung tenaciously like Umpets to their
trench, and had to be very carefully removed in
case a mine was going up. As a matter of fact,
the infantry always made a rule of clearing the
MINES 215
trench half as far again as the mining officer
enjoined, and were always inchned to want to
depart from the abhorred spot long before the
time decided upon !
" That's clear enough," said the Colonel. " Then
from here to here (and he made pencil blobs where
I have marked A and B on Map III) we will clear
the trench. Get your Lewis guns placed at these
two points (A and B), ready to open fire as soon
as the mine has gone up. And get your bombers
ready to seize the crater edge as soon as it's dark
enough. You'll want to have some tools and sand-
bags ready, and your wirers should have plenty
of gooseberries and all the stakes we can get you.
Right."
As I went up 76 Street at half -past five, I reaUsed
that I had been rushing about too much, and had
forgotten tea. So I sent Davies back and told him
to bring up a mug of tea and something to eat.
No sooner had he disappeared than I met a party
of six R.E.'s, the two leading men carrying canaries
in cages. They held them out in front, like you
hold out a lantern on a muddy road, and they
were covered from head to foot in white chalk-
dust. They were doing a sort of half-run down
the trench, known among the men as the " R.E.
step." It is always adopted by them if there is
any " strafing " going on, or on such occasions as
the present, when the charge has been laid, the
216 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
match lit, and the mine-shaft and galleries, canaries
and all, evacuated. (The canaries are used to
detect gas fumes, not as pets.)
When I reached the Fort, I found No. 7 Platoon
already filing out of the trench area that had been
condemned as dangerous.
" You're very early. Sergeant Hayman," I said.
I looked at my watch.
" Oh, all right," I added, " it's twenty to six ;
very well. Have you got all the bomb boxes and
S.A.A. out ? "
" Yes, sir. Everything's clear."
" Very well, then. All those men not detailed
as tool and sand-bag party can get in dug-outs,
ready to come back as soon as I give orders. There
will probably be a bit of ' strafing.' "
" Very good, sir."
The Lewis-gun team emerged from its dug-out
twenty yards behind the Fort, in rather a snail-
like fashion. I arranged where the N.C.O. and
two men should stand, just at the corner of the
Fort, but in the main trench (at B in map). The
rest of the team I sent back to its burrow.
Edwards had made all arrangements for the other
team.
Ten to six. It was a warm evening early in
April, and there was a deathly calm. These hushes
are hateful and unnatural, especially at " stand to "
in the evening. In the afternoon an after-dinner
slumber is right and proper, but as dusk creeps
MINES 217
down it is well known that everyone is alive and
alert, and a certain visible expression is natural
and welcome. This evening silence is like the pause
between the lightning and the thunder ; worst of
all is the stillness after the enemy has blown a
mine at " stand to," for ten to one he is going to
blow another at " stand down."
The sun set in a blaze of red, and in the south the
evening star glowed in a deepening blue. WTiat will
have happened by the time the day has returned
with its full hght and sense of security ?
" Here you are, sir," I heard suddenly at my
elbow, and found my mug of tea, two large pieces
of bread and butter and cake, presented by Davies
on a box-lid salver.
" I don't know if this is enough, sir. Lewus
he wanted me to bring along a pot o' jam, sir.
But I said Mr. Adams he won't have time for all
that."
" I should think not. Far too much as it is.
Here, put the cake on the fire-step, and take hold
of this notebook, will you ? " And so, with the
mug in one hand, and a piece of bread and butter
in the other, Scott found me as he came along at
that moment, looking, as he told me afterwards,
exactly Like the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland.
" What's the time ? " I enquired, munching hard.
" I make it two minutes to six," said Scott.
" Go up a shixo'-clock," I said, taking a very big
mouthful indeed.
218 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" Who put the sugar in this tea ? " I asked
Davies a minute later.
" I did," said Davies.
" Far too much. I shall never get you fellows
to understand ..."
But the sentence was not finished. There was a
faint " Bomp " from goodness knows where, and
a horrid shudder. The earth shook and staggered,
and I set my legs apart to keep my balance. It
felt as if the whole ground were going to be tilted
up. The tea splashed all over the fire-step as I
hastily put it down. Then I looked up. There
was nothing. What had happened ? Was it a
camouflet after all ? Then, over the sandbags
appeared a great green meadow, slowly, taking its
time, not hurrying, a smooth curved dome of grass,
heaving up, up, up, like a rising cake ; then, like
a cake, it cracked ; cracked visibly with bursting
brown seams ; still the dome rose, towering ten,
twenty feet up above the surrounding level ; and
then with a roar the black smoke hurtled into the
air, followed by masses of pink flame creaming up
into the sky, giving out a bonfire heat and Ughting
up the twilight with a lurid glare ! Then we all
ducked to avoid the shower of mud and dirt and
chalk that pattered down like hail.
" Magnificent," I said to Scott.
" Wonderful," he answered.
" The mud's all in your tea, sir," said Davies,
" Dr — r-r-r-r-r," rattled the Lewis guns. The
MINES 219
Lewis gunners with me had been amazed rather
than thrilled by the awful spectacle, but were now
recovered from the shock, and emptying two or
three drums into the twihght void. I was peering
over into a vast chasm, where two minutes ago had
been a smooth meadow full of buttercups and
toadstools.
Suddenly I found Sergeant Hayman at my elbow.
" The trench is all fallen in, sir. You can't get
along at all." And so the night's work began.
At i.o a.m. I was lying flat down on soft spongy
grass atop of a large crater-lip quite eight feet
higher than the ground level. Beside me lay two
bombers and a box of bombs : we were all peering
out into a space that seemed enormous. Suddenly
a German starlight rocketed up, and as it burst
the great white bowl of the crater jumped into
view. Then a few rifle-shots sang across the gulf.
There followed a deeper darkness than before.
Behind me was a wiring-party not quite finished ;
also the sound of earth being shovelled by tired
men. A strong working-party of " A " Company
had been engaged for four hours clearing the trench
that had been squeezed up ; all available men of
" B " Company not on sentry had been digging a
zigzag sap from the trench to the post on the
crater-hp where I lay. Two other pairs of bombers
lay out on the crater edge to right and left ; behind
me the wirers had run out a thin line of stakes
and barbed wire behind the new crater ; this wire
220 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
passed over the sap, which would not be held by
day. One wirer had had a bullet through the leg,
but we had suffered no other casualties. Another
hour, and I should be off duty. Altogether, a good
show.
II
I was reading Blackwood' s in a dug-out in Maple
Redoubt. It was just after four, and I was lying
on my bed. Suddenly the candle flickered and
went out. I had to get up to ring the bell, and
when I did get up, the bell did not ring, so I went
out and called Lewis. The bell, by the way, was
an arrangement of string from our dug-out to the
servants' next door.
" Bring me a candle," I said, as Lewis appeared,
evidently flushed and blear-eyed from sleep. " I
don't know where you keep them. I can't find one
anywhere."
Lewis fished under the bed and discovered a
paper packet of candles, and lit one. " By the by,"
I added, " tell the pioneer servant (this was Private
Davies, my orderly) to fix up that bell, will you ?
And I think we'll be ready for tea as soon as you
can get it. What do you say, Teddy ? Hullo,
Clark ! What are you doing here ? Come in and
have tea."
" Thanks, I will," said Clark, who had just come
down Park Lane. " I was coming to invite myself,
as a matter of fact."
MINES 221
" Good man," we said. Clark was no longer of
" B " Company, having passed from Lewis-gun
officer to tfie Brigade Machine-gun Corps. So we
did not see very much of him.
At that moment Sergeant-Major Brown arrived
and stood at the door. He saluted.
" Come in, sergeant-major."
" The tea's up, sir."
" Oh, all right," I said. " I'll go. Don't wait
if tea comes in, Edwards. But I shan't be a
minute."
As I went along with that tower of strength,
the company sergeant-major, followed by an orderly
carrying two rum jars produced from under my
bed, I discussed the subject of working-parties for
the night, and other such dull details of routine.
Also we discussed leave. His dug-out was at the
corner of Old Kent Road and Park Lane, and there
I found the " Quarter " (Company Sergeant-Major
Roberts) waiting with the five dixies of hot tea,
just brought up on the ration trolley from the
Citadel.
Sergeant Roberts saluted, and informed me that
all was correct. Then the sergeant-major spilled
the contents of the two jars into the five dixies,
and as he did so the ten orderlies, two from each
platoon, and two Lewis gunners, made off with the
dixies. Then I made off, but followed by Sergeant
Roberts with several papers to sign, and five pay
books in which entries had to be made for men
222 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
going on leave. One signed the pay-book, and
also a paper to the quartermaster authorising him
to pay 125 francs (the usual sum) to the under-
mentioned men, out of the company balance which
was deposited with him on leaving billets. I signed
everything Sergeant Roberts put before me, almost
without question.
" Well, Clark," I said, as we sat down to a tea
of hot buttered toast, jam and cake. " How goes
it? "
" I've just been down a mine-shaft with that
R.E. officer, I forget his name — the fellow with
the glasses."
" I know," I replied ; "I don't know his name
either, but it doesn't matter. Did you go right
down, and along the galleries ? How frightfully
interesting. I always mean to go, but somehow
don't. Well, what about it ? "
" By Jove," said Clark. " It's wonderful. It's
all as white as snow, dazzling white. I never
realised that before, although you see these R.E.'s
coming out all covered with white chaUc-dust.
First of all you go down three or four ladders ;
it's awfully tricky work at the sort of halts on the
way down, because there's a little platform, and
very often the ladder goes down a different side
of the shaft after one of these halts ; and if you
don't notice, you lower your foot to go on down
the same side as you were going before, and there's
nothing there. The first time I did this and looked
MINES 228
down and saw a dim light miles below, it quite
gave me a turn. It's a terrible long way down,
and of course you go alone ; the R.E. officer went
first, and got ahead of me."
" Have some more tea, and go on."
" Well, down there it's fearfully interesting. I
didn't go far up the gallery where they're working,
because you can't easily pass along ; but the R.E.
officer took me along a gallery that is not being
worked, and there, all alone, at the end of it was
a man sitting. He was simply sitting, Ustening.
Then I listened through his stethoscope thing ..."
" I know," I interposed. It is an instrument hke
a doctor's stethoscope, and by it you can hear
underground sounds a hundred yards away as
clearly as if they were five yards off.
"... and I could hear the Boche working as
plainly as anything. Good heavens, it sounded
about a yard off. Yet they told me it was forty
yards. By Jove, it was weird. ' Pick . . . pick
. . . pick.' I thought it must be our fellows really,
but theirs made a different sound, and not a bit
the same. But, you know, that fellow sitting there
alone ... as we went away and left him, he looked
round at us with staring eyes just like a hunted
animal. To sit there for hours on end, listening.
Of course, while you hear them working, it's all
right, they won't blow. But if you don't hear them !
My God, I wouldn't like to be an R.E. It's an
awful game."
224 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" By Jove," said Edwards. " How fearfully
interesting ! Is it cold down there ? "
" Fairly. I really didn't notice."
" I must go down," I said, " We always laugh
at these R.E.'s for looking like navvies, and for
going about without gas-helmets or rifles. But
really they are wonderful men. It's awful being
liable to be buried alive any moment. Somehow
death in the open is far less terrible. Ugh ! Do
you remember that R.E., Teddy, we saw running
down the Old Kent Road ? It was that night the
Boche blew the mine in the Quarry. Jove, Clark,
that was a sight. I was just going up from Trafalgar
Square, when I heard a running, and there was
a fellow, great big brawny fellow, naked to the
waist, and grey all over ; and someone had given
him his equipment and rifle in a hurry, and he'd
got his equipment over his bare skin ! The men
were fearfully amused. ' R.E.,' they said, and
smiled. But, by God, there was a death look in
that man's eyes. He'd been down when the Boche
blew their mine, and as near as possible buried
alive. No, it's a rotten game."
As I spoke, the ground shuddered, and the tea-
things shook.
" There is a mine," we all exclaimed together.
" I wonder if it's ours, or theirs," said Edwards.
" I saw Hills, this afternoon," I answered, " and
he said nothing about a mine. I'm sure he would
have, if we had been going to send one up. No,
MINES 225
I bet that's a Boche mine. Good thing you're
out of it, Clark. Oh, don't go. Well, cheero ! if
you must. Look us up oftener. Good luck ! "
Clark departed, and I resimied Blackwood's.
" I say, Edwards," said I, after a while. " This
stuff of Ian Hay's is awfully good. This about
the signallers is top-hole. You can simply smell
it!"
" After you with it," was the reply.
" There you are," I said at last. " It's called
' Carry On ' ; there have been several others in
the same series. You know the ' First Hundred
Thousand' ? "
" No."
" Good stuff," said I. " Good readable stuff ;
the sort you'd give to your people at home. But
it leaves out bits."
" Such as . . . ? "
"Oh, well, the utter fed-upness, and the dullness
— and — well, oh, I don't know. You read it and
see."
That was a bad night. The Boche mine had
caught our R.E.'s this time. All the night through
they were rescuing fellows from our mine gallery.
Seven or eight were killed, most of them " gassed " ;
two of " A " Company were badly gassed too while
aiding in the rescue work. This mine gas is, I
suppose, very like that encountered in coal mines ;
and the explosion of big charges of cordite must
create cracks and fissures underground that release
15
226 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
these gases in all directions. I do not profess to
write as an expert on this. At any rate they were
all night working to get the fellows out. One man
when rescued disobeyed the doctor's strict injunc-
tions to He still for half an hour before moving
away from where he was put, just outside the
mine shaft ; and this cost him his life. He hurried
down the Old Kent Road, and dropped dead with
heart failure at the bottom of it. Hills told me
he felt the pulses of two men who had been gassed
and were waiting the prescribed half-hour ; and
they were going like a watch ticking. Yes, it was
a bad night. I got snatches of sleep, but always
there was the sound of stretchers being carried past
our dug-out to the doctor's dressing-station ;
several times I went out to investigate how things
were going. But there was nothing I could do.
It was my duty to sleep : we were going up in
the Une to-morrow. But sleep does not always
come to order.
Before dawn we " stood to," and it was quite
light as I inspected the last rifle of No. 6 Platoon.
They were just bringing the last of the gassed
miners down to the dressing-station. I stood at
the corner of Park Lane, and watched. The
stretcher-bearers came and looked at two forms
lying on stretchers close by me ; then they asked
me if I thought it would be all right to take those
stretchers, and leave the dead men there another
hour. I said if they wanted the stretchers, yes.
MINES 227
So they lifted the bodies ofi, and went away with
the stretchers. There were several men standing
about, silent, as usual, in the presence of death.
I looked at those two R.E.'s as they lay quite
uncovered ; grim their faces were, grim and severe.
I told a man to get something and cover them up,
until the stretcher-bearers came and removed
them. And as I strode away in silence between my
men, I felt that my face was grim too. I thought
of Clark's description, a few hours back, of the
man sitting alone in the white chalk gallery, listen-
ing, listening, Ustening. And now !
Once more I thought of " blind death." The
Germans who had set hght to the fuse at tea-time
were doubtless sleeping the sleep of men who have
worked well and earned their rest. And here . . .
They knew nothing of it, would never know whom
they had slain. And I remembered the night Scott
and I had watched our big mine go up. " Wonder-
ful," we had said, " magnificent." And in the
morning the R.E. officer had told us that we
had smashed all their galleries up, and that they
would not trouble us there for a fortnight at
least. " A certain man drew a bow at a ven-
ture," I said again, vaguely remembering something,
but stiffening myself suddenly, and stifling my
imagination.
I met Edwards by the dug-out as he returned
from inspecting the Lewis guns.
"Remember," I said, "I told you the 'First
228 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
Hundred Thousand ' leaves out bits ? Did you see
those R.E.'s who were gassed ? "
Edwards nodded.
"Well," I added, "that's a thing it leaves
out."
CHAPTER XIV
BILLETS
I. Morning
TWO hours' pack drill, and pay for a
new handle," I said.
" Right — Turn ! " said the sergeant-
major. " Right — Wheel — Quick — March ! Get your
equipment on and join your platoon at once."
This last sentence was spoken in a quick under-
tone, as the prisoner stepped out of the door into the
road. I was filling up the column headed " Punish-
ment awarded " on a buff -coloured Army Form, to
which I appended my signature. The case just dealt
with was a very dull and commonplace one, a man
having "lost " his entrenching tool handle. Most
of these " losses " occurred in trenches, and were
dealt with the first morning in billets at company
orderly-room. This man had been engaged on
special fatigue work the last few days ; hence the
reason why the loss had not been checked before,
and came up on this last morning in billets.
" No more prisoners ? " I asked the company
sergeant-major.
" No more prisoners, sir," he answered. I then
229
230 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
rather hurriedly signed several returns made out by
Sergeant Roberts, the company quartermaster-
sergeant, and promised to come in later and sign the
acquittance rolls. These are the pay-lists, made
out in triplicate, which are signed by each man as
he draws his pay. The original goes to the Pay-
master in England, one carbon copy to the ad-
jutant, and one is retained by the company-
commander. We had paid out the first day in
billets. This time " working-parties " had been
tolerable. We had arrived back in billets about
half-past three in the afternoon ; the next morning
had been spent in a march to the divisional baths
at Treux (two miles away), in cleaning up, kit-inspec-
tion, and a little arm-drill and musketry practice ;
in the afternoon we paid out. Then followed three
days of working-parties, up on the support line at
Crawley Ridge ; and now, we had this last day in
which to do a little company work. There had been
running parade at seven-thirty. Owen had taken
this, and I confess that I had not yet breakfasted.
So I hurried off now at 9.10 to gulp something
down and be at battalion orderly-room at 9.30
sharp.
The company office was a house of two rooms ;
one was the "office" itself, with a blanket-clad
table and a couple of chairs in the middle, and all
around were strewn strange boxes, and bundles of
papers and equipment. On the walls were pictures
from illustrated English papers ; one of Nurse
BILLETS 231
Cavell, another of howitzers firing ; and several
graphic bayonet-charges at Verdun, pictured by an
artist who must have " glowed " as he drew them in
his room in Chelsea. In the other room slept the
CS.M. and C.Q.M.S. (more familiar as the
"sergeant-major" and the "quartermaster").
From this house, then, I stepped out into the
glaring street. It was the end of May, and the day
promised to be really quite hot. I have already
explained how completely shut off from the trenches
one felt in Morlancourt, sheltered as it was in a cup
of the hills and immune from shelling. Now as I
walked quickly along the street, past our battalion
" orderly-room," and returned the immaculate
salute of Sergeant-Major Shandon, the regimental
sergeant-major, who was already marshalling the
prisoners ready for the Colonel at half-past nine,
I felt a lightness and freshness of body that almost
made me think I was free of the war at last. My
Sam Browne belt, my best tunic with its polished
buttons, and most of all, I suppose, the effect of a
good sleep and a cold bath, all contributed to this
feehng, as weU as the scent from the laburnum and
lilac that looked over the garden wall opposite the
billet that was our " Mess."
I found Edwards just going off to inspect " B "
Company Lewis gunners, whom he was taking on
the range the first part of the morning.
" Hullo ! " he said, " you've not got much
time."
232 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" No," said I. " My own fault for getting up late.
Got a case for the CO. too. Is my watch right ? I
make it seventeen minutes past."
" Nineteen, I make it."
" Wish I hadn't asked you," I laughed. " No
porridge, Lewis. Bring the eggs and bacon in at
once. This tea '11 do. There's no milk, though.
What ? "
Edwards had asked something. He repeated his
question, which was whether I wanted Jim, the
company horse, this afternoon. I thought rapidly,
and the scent of the lilac decided me.
" Yes," I answered. " Sorry, but I do."
"Oh, all right ; I expect I can get old Muskett
to let me have one."
Muskett was the transport officer.
" Righto," said I. "Go teach thy Lewis gunners
how to drill little holes in the chalk-bank."
He clattered off over the cobbles of the garden
path, and in a few minutes I followed suit, running
until I rounded a corner and came into view of the
orderly-room, when I altered my gait to a dignified
walk and arrived just as the Colonel appeared from
the opposite direction.
" Parade ! Tchern ! ! " shouted Sergeant-Ma jor
Shandon ; and a moment later the four company
commanders came to attention and saluted as the
Colonel passed in, sprinkling "Good mornings" to
right and left.
I had one very uninteresting case of drunkenness ;
BILLETS 283
" A " had a couple of men who had overstayed their
pass in England ; " C " had a case held over from
the day before for further evidence, and was now
dismissed as not proven ; while " D " had an un-
satisfactory sergeant who was " severely repri-
manded." All these cases were quickly and un-
erringly disposed of, and we company commanders
saluted again and clattered down the winding stair-
case out into the sunshine.
I had to pass from one end of the village to the
other. The orderly-room was not far from our
company " Mess " and was at a cross-roads.
Opposite, in one of the angles made by the junction
of the four roads, was a deep and usually muddy
horse-pond. But even here the mud was getting
hard under this spell of warm May weather, and the
innumerable ruts and hoof-marks were crystallising
into a permanent pattern. As I walked along the
streets I passed sundry Tommies acting as road-
scavengers ; " permanent road fatigue " they were
called, although they were anything but permanent,
being changed every day. Formerly they had
seemed to be engaged in a Herculean, though un-
romantic, task of scraping great rolling puddings of
mud to the side of the road, in the vain hope that
the mud would find an automatic exit into neigh-
bouring gardens and ponds ; for Morlancourt did
not boast such modern things as gutters. To-day
there were large pats of mud lining the street, but
these were now caked and hard, and even crumbling
234 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
into dust, that whisked about among the sparrows.
The permanent road fatigue was gathering waste-
paper and tins in large quantities, but otherwise was
having a hohday.
Women were working, or gossiping at the door-
steps. The estaminet doors were flung wide open,
and the floors were being scrubbed and sprinkled
with sawdust. A little bare-legged girl, in a black
cotton dress, was hugging a great wide loaf ; an old
man sat blinking in the sunshine ; cats were basking,
dogs nosing about lazily. A party of about thirty
bombers passed me, the sergeant giving " eyes
right " and waking me from meditations on the
eternal calm of cats. Then I reached the head-
quarter guard, and the sentry saluted with a rattling
clap upon his butt, and I did my best to emulate his
smartness. So I passed along all the length of the
shuttered houses of Morlancourt.
"A great day, this," I thought, as I came to the
small field where " B " Company was paraded ; not
two hundred and fifty men, as you will doubtless
assume from the text-books, but some thirty or forty
men only ; one was lucky if one mustered forty.
Where were the rest, you ask ? Well, bombers
bombing ; Lewis gunners under Edwards ; some on
" permanent mining fatigue," that is, carrying the
sand-bags from the mine-shafts to the dumps ;
transport, pioneers, stretcher-bearers, men under
bombing instruction, officers' servants, headquarter
orderlies, men on leave, etc. etc. The company
BILLETS 235
sergeant-major will make out a parade slate for you
if you want it, showing exactly where every man is.
But here are forty men. Let's drill them.
Half were engaged in arm-drill under my best
drill-sergeant ; the other half were doing musketry
in gas-hclmcts, an unpleasant practice which nothing
would induce me to do on a sunny May morning.
They lay on their fronts, legs well apart, and were
working the bolts of their rifles fifteen times a
minute. After a while they changed over and did
arm-drill, while the other half took over the gas-
helmets, the mouthpieces having first been dipped
in a solution of carbolic brought by one of the
stretcher-bearers in a canteen. These gas-helmets
were marked D.P. (drill purposes), and each company
had so many with which to practise.
When both parties were duly exercised, I gave a
short lecture on the measures to be adopted against
the use of Flammenwerfer, which is the " Liquid
Fire " of the official communiques. I had just been
to a demonstration of this atrocity in the form of a
captured German apparatus, and my chief object in
lecturing the men about it was to make it quite clear
that the flaming jets of burning gas cannot sink into
a trench, but, as a matter of fact, only keep level so
long as they are propelled by the driving power of
the hose apparatus ; as water from a hose goes
straight, and then curves down to the ground, so gas,
even though it be incandescent, goes straight and
then rises. In the trench you are unscathed, as we
236 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
proved in the demonstration, when they sprayed the
flaming gas over a trench full of men. Indeed, the
chief effect of this flammenwerfer is one of fright-
fulness, as the Germans cannot come over until the
flames have ceased. The men were rather inclined
to gape at all this, but I found the words had sunk
in when I asked what should be done if the enemy
used this diabolical stuff against us. " Get down at
the bottom of the trench, sir, and as soon as they
stop it, give the 's 'ell ! "
The rest of the morning we spent " on the range,"
which meant firing into a steep chalk bank at a
hundred yards. Targets and paste-pot had been
procured from the pioneers' shop, and after posting
a couple of "look-out" men on either side, we
started range practice. The men are always keen
about firing on the range, and it is really the most
interesting and pleasant part of the infantryman's
training. I watched these fellows, hugging their
rifle-butt into their shoulder, and feeling the smooth
wood against their cheeks ; they wriggled their
bodies about to get a comfortable position ; some-
times they flinched as they fired and jerked the rifle ;
sometimes they pressed the trigger as softly, as
softly. . . . And gradually, carefully, we tried to
detect and eliminate the faults. Then we ended up
with fifteen rounds rapid in a minute. The " mad
minute " it used to be called at home. After which
we fell the men in, and Paul marched them back to
the company " alarm post " outside the company
BILLETS 237
office, where " B " Company always fell in ; while
Owen, Nicolson, and I walked back together.
IL Afternoon
" I still maintain," said I, an hour later, as we
finished lunch, " that bully-beef, some sort of sauce
or pickle, and salad, followed by cheese, and ending
with a cup of tea, is the proper lunch for an officer.
I don't mind other officers having tinned fruit,
though, if they like it," I added with a laugh.
Owen and Syme were newly joined officers for
whom the sight of tinned pears or apricots had not
yet lost a certain glamour that disappeared after
months and months. They were just finishing the
pear course. Hence my last remark.
" I bet if we allowed you to have bully every day,"
came from Edwards, our Mess president, " you'd
soon get sick of it."
" Try," said I, knowing that he never would. I
always used to eat of the hot things that would
appear at lunch, to the detriment of a proper ap-
preciation of dinner ; but I always maintained the
position laid down in the first sentence of this
section.
I lit a pipe and strolled out into the garden. This
was undoubtedly an ideal billet, and a great improve-
ment on the butcher's shop, where they used always
to be killing pigs in the yard and letting the blood
run all over the place. It was a long, one-storied
house, set back about fifty yards from the road ;
238 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
this fifty yards was all garden, and, at the end,
completely shutting off the road, was a high brick
wall. On each side of the garden were also high
walls formed by the sides of stables and outhouses ;
the garden was thus completely walled round, and
the seclusion and peace thus entrapped were a very
priceless possession to us.
The garden itself was full of life. There were box-
bordered paths up both sides and down the centre,
and on the inner side of the paths was an herbaceous
border smelling very sweet of wallflowers and
primulas of every variety. Although it was still
May, there were already one or two pink cabbage-
roses out ; later, the house itself would be covered
with them ; already the buds were showing yellow
streaks as they tried to burst open their tight green
sheaths. In the centre of the garden ran a cross path
with a summer-house of bamboo canes completely
covered with honeysuckle ; that, too, was budding
already. The rest of the garden was filled with rows
of young green things, peas, and cabbages, and I
know not what, suitably protected against the
ravages of sparrows and finches by the usual
miniature telegraph system of sticks connected by
cotton decorated with feathers and bits of rag.
Every bit of digging, hoeing, weeding and sowing
were performed by Madame and her two black-
dressed daughters in whose house we were now
livmg, and who were themselves putting up in the
adjoining farmhouse, which belonged to them.
BILLETS 239
I said that they had done all the digging in the
garden. I should make one reservation. All the
potato-patch had been dug by our servants, with
the assistance of Gray, the cook. Nor did they do
it in gratitude to Madame, as, doubtless, ideal Tom-
mies would have done. A quarter of it was done by
Lewis, for carelessness in losing my valise ; nearly
half by the joint effort of the whole crew for a
thoroughly dirty turn-out on commanding officer's
inspection ; and the rest for various other defalca-
tions ! We never told Madame the reasons for their
welcome help ; and I am quite sure they never did 1
" The worst of this war," said I to Edwards, puff-
ing contentedly at a pipeful of Chairman, " is this :
it's too comfortable. You could carry on like this
for years, and years, and years."
" Wasn't so jolly last time in," muttered the wise
Edwards.
" That's exactly the point," I answered ; " life
in the trenches we all loathe, and no one makes any
bones about it or pretends to like it — except for a
few rare exciting minutes, which are very few and
far between. But you come out into billets, and
recover ; and so you can carry on. It's not con-
centrated enough."
" It's more concentrated for the men than for us."
" Well, yes, very often ; but they haven't the
strain of responsibility. Yes, you are right though ;
and it's less concentrated for the CO., still less for
the Brigadier, and so on back to the Commander-in-
240 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
Chief ; and still further to men who have never seen
a trench at all."
" I dare say," said Edwards ; " but, as the phrase
goes, ' What are you going to do abaht it ? ' Here's
Jim. Old Muskett's going to send me a nag at five,
so I'm going out after tea. Will you be in to tea ? "
" Don't know."
As I tightened my puttees preparatory to mount-
ing the great Jim, Edwards started his gramo-
phone ; so leaving them to the strains of Tann-
haiiser, I bestrode my charger and steered him
gracefully down the garden path, under the brick
archway, and out into the street.
Myself on a horse always amused me, especially
when it was called an " officer's charger." Jim was
not fiery, yet he was not by any means sluggish, and
he went fast at a gallop. He suited me very well
indeed when I wanted to go for an afternoon's ride ;
for he was quite content to walk when I wanted to
muse, and to gallop hard when I wanted exhilara-
tion. I hate a horse that will always be trotting.
I know it is best style to trot ; but my rides were
not for style, but for pleasure, exercise, and solitude.
And Jim fell in admirably with my requirements.
But, as I say, the idea that I was a company-
commander on his charger always amused me.
I rode, as I generally did, in a south-easterly
direction, climbing at a walk one of the many roads
that led out of Morlancourt towards the Bois des
Tallies. When I reached the high ground I made
BILLETS 241
Jim gallop along the grass-border right up to the
edge of the woods. There is nothing like the ex-
hilaration of flying along, you cannot imagine how,
with the great brown animal lengthening out under
you for all he is worth ! I pulled him up and turned
his head to the right, leaving the road, and skirting
the edge of the wood. At last I was alone.
In the clearings of the wood the ground was a
sheet of blue hyacinths, whose sweet scent came
along on the breeze ; their fragrance Hfted my spirit,
and I drank in deep breaths of the early summer air.
I took off my cap to feel the sun full on my face.
On the ground outside the wood were still a few late
primroses interspersed with cowslips, stubborn and
jolly ; and as I rounded a bend in the wood-edge, I
found myself looking across a tiny valley, the opposite
face of which was a wooded slope, with all the trees
banked up on it as gardeners bank geraniums in tiers
to give a good massed effect. So, climbing the hill-
side, were all these shimmering patches of green,
yellow-green, pea-green, yellow, massed together in
delightful variety ; and dotted about in the middle
of them were soUtary patches of white cherry-
blossom, like white foam breaking over a reef, in the
midst of a great green sea. And across this perfect
softness from time to time the bold black and white
of magpies cut with that vivid contrast with which
Nature loves to baffle the poor artist.
" Come on, old boy," I said, as I reached the
bottom of this little valley ; and trotting up the
i6
242 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
other side, and through a ride in the wood, I came
out on the edge of the Valley of the Somme. I then
skirted the south side of the wood until I reached a
secluded corner with a view across the valley : here
I dismounted, fastened Jim to a tree, loosened his
girths, and left him pulling greedily at the grass at
his feet. Then I threw myself down on the grass to
dream.
My thoughts ran back to my conversation with
Edwards. Perhaps it was best not to think too hard,
but I could no more stifle my thoughts than can a
man his appetite. ResponsibiHty. Responsibility.
And those with the greatest responsibility endure
and see the least ; no one has more to endure than
the private soldier in the infantry, and no one has
less responsibility or power of choice. I thought of
our last six days in the trenches. When " A "
Company were in the line, the first three days, we
had been bombarded heavily at " stand-to " in the
evening. In Maple Redoubt it had been bad enough.
There was one sentry-post a Uttle way up Old Kent
Road ; by some mistake a bomber had been put on
duty there, whereas it was a bayonet-man's post,
the bombers having a special role in case of the
enemy attacking. I found this mistake had been
made, but did not think it was worth altering.
And that man was killed outright by a shell.
In the front Une " A " Company had had several
killed and wounded, and I had had to lend them
half my bombers ; as I had placed two men on one
BILLETS 243
post, a canister had burst quite a long way off, but
the men cowered down into the trench. I cursed
them as hard as I could, and then I saw that in the
post were the two former occupants lying dead,
killed half an hour ago where they lay, and where
I was placing my two men. I stopped my curses,
and inwardly directed them against myself. And
there I had to leave these fellows, looking after me
and thinking, "He's going back to his dug-out."
Ah ! no, they knew me better than to think like
that. Yet I had to go back, leaving them there. I
should never forget that awful weight of responsi-
bihty that suddenly seemed visualised before me.
Could I not see their scared faces peering at me,
even as now I seemed to smell the scent of pear-drops
with which the trench was permeated, the Germans
having sent over a few lachrymatory shells along
with the others that night ?
Ah ! Why was I Uving all this over again, just
when I had come away to get free of all this awhile,
and dream ? I had come out to enjoy the sunshine
and the peace, just as Jim was enjoying the grass
behind me. I listened. There was a slight jingle of
the bit now and again, and a creaking of leather, and
always that drawing sound, with an occasional purr,
as the grass was torn up. I could not help looking
round at last. " You pig," I said ; but my tone did
not altogether disapprove of complacent piggishness.
In front of me lay the blue water of the Somme
Canal, and the pools between it and the river ; long
244 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
parallel rows of pale green poplars stretched along
either bank of the canal ; and at my feet, half hidden
by the slope of the ground, lay the sleepy little
village of Etinehem. There was a Sunday afternoon
slumber over everything. Was it Sunday ? I
thought for a moment. No, it was Thursday, and
to-morrow we went " in " again. I deliberately
switched my thoughts away from the trenches, and
they flew to the events of the morning. I could see
my fellows lying, so keen — I might almost say so
happy — blazing away on the range. One I re-
membered especially. Private Benjamin, a boy
with a delicate eager face, who came out with the
last draft : he came from a village close up to
Snowdon ; he was shooting badly, and very con-
cerned about it. I lay down beside him and showed
him how to squeeze the trigger, gradually, ever
so gradually. Oh ! these boys ! ResponsibiUty.
Responsibility.
" This is no good," I said to myself at last, and
untied Jim and rode again. I went down into the
valley, and along the green track between an avenue
of poplars south of the canal until at last I came to
Sailly-Laurette, and so back and in to Morlancourt
from the south-west. It was six o'clock by the time
I stooped my head under the gateway into our
garden, and for the last hour or so I had almost for-
gotten war at last.
" Hullo," was the greeting I received from Owen.
" There's no tea left."
BILLETS 245
" I don't want any tea," I answered. " Has the
post come ? "
There were three letters for me. As I slept at a
house a little distance away, I took the letters along
with me.
"I'm going over to my room to clean up," I
shouted to Owen, who was reading inside the Mess-
room. " What time's old Jim coming in ? "
" Seven o'clock ! "
" All right," I answered. " I'll be over by seven."
III. Evening
As I walked up the garden path a few minutes
before seven, I had to pass the kitchen door, where
the servants slept, Uved, and cooked our meals. I
had a vision of Private Watson, the cook, busy at
the oven ; he was in his shirt-sleeves, hair untidy,
trousers very grimy, and altogether a very un-
martial figure. There seemed to be a dispute in
progress, to judge from the high pitch to which the
voices had attained. On these occasions Lewis'
piping voice reached an incredible falsetto, while
his face flushed redder than ever.
Watson, Owen's servant, had superseded Gray
as officers' mess cook ; the latter had, unfortunately,
drunk one or two glasses of beer last time in billets,
and, to give his own version, he " somehow felt very
sleepy, and went down and lay under a bank," and
could remember nothing more until about ten
o'clock, when he humbly reported his return to me.
246 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
Meanwhile Watson had cooked the dinner, which
was, of course, very late ; and as he did it very well,
and as Gray's explanation seemed somewhat vague,
we decided to make Watson cook, let Gray try a
little work in the company for a change, and get the
sergeant-major to send Owen another man for
servant. Watson had signalised the entry to his
new appointment by a quarrel with Madame (the
Warwicks had managed to " bag " this ideal billet
of ours temporarily, and we were in a much less
comfortable one the last two occasions out of
trenches) ; eventually Madame had hurled the
frying-pan at him, amid a torrent of unintelligible
French ; neither could understand a word the other
was saying, of course. Gray had been wont, I
believe, to " lie low and say nuffin," like Brer Fox,
when Madame, who was old and half-crazed, came
up and threw water on the fire in a fit of unknown
anger. But Watson's blood boiled at such insults
from a Frenchwoman, and hence had followed a
sharp contention ending in the projection of the
frying-pan. Luckily, we were unmolested here :
Watson could manage the dinner, anyway.
I entered our mess-room, which was large, light,
and boasted a boarded floor ; it was a splendid
summer-room, though it would have been very cold
in winter. There I found a pile of literature await-
ing me ; operation orders for to-morrow, giving the
hour at which each company was to leave Morlan-
court, and which company of the Manchesters it was
BILLETS 247
to relieve, and when, and where, and the route to be
taken ; there were two typed documents " for your
information and retention, please," one relating to
prevention of fly-trouble in billets, the other giving
a new code of signals and marked " Secret " on the
top, and lastly there was Comic Cuts. Leaving the
rest, I hastily skimmed through the latter, which
contained detailed infonnation of operations carried
out, and intelligence gathered on the corps front
during the last few days. At first these were in-
tensely interesting, but after seven months they
began to pall, and I grew expert at skimming through
them rapidly.
Then Jim Potter came in, and Comic Cuts faded
into insignificance.
" Here, Owen," said I, and threw them over to him.
Captain and Quartermaster Jim Potter was the
Father of the battaUon. He had been in the bat-
talion sixteen years, and had come out with them in
1914 ; twice the battahon had been decimated, new
officers had come and disappeared, commanding
officers had become brigadiers and new ones taken
their place, but " Old Jim " remained, calm, un-
altered, steady as a rock, good-natured, and an
utter pessimist. I first introduced him in Chapter I,
when I spent the night in his billet prior to my first
advent into the trenches. I was a little perturbed
then by his pessimism. Now I should have been
very alarmed if he had suddenly burst into a fit of
optimism.
248 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" Well, Jim," we said, " how are things going ?
When's the war going to end ? "
" Oh ! not so very long now." We gaped at this
unexpected reply. " Because," he added, " you
know. Bill, it's the unexpected that always happens
in this war. Hullo ! You've got some pretty
pictures, I see."
We had been decorating the walls with the few
unwarlike pictures that were still to be found in the
illustrated papers.
" Not a bad place, Blighty," he resumed, gazing
at a picture entitled " Home, Sweet Home ! "
There had been a little dispute as to whether it
should go up, owing to its sentimental nature. At
last " The Warwicks will like it," we had said, and
up it had gone. The Warwicks had our billet, when
we were "in."
" Tell us about your leave," we said, and Jim
began a series of delightful sarcastic jerks about the
way people in England seemed to be getting now a
faint gUmmering conception that somewhere there
was a war on.
The joint was not quite ready, Edwards explained
to me, drawing me aside a minute ; would old Jim
mind ? The idea of old Jim minding being quite
absurd, we decided on having a cooked joint a
quarter of an hour hence, rather than a semi-raw
one now ; and we told Jim our decision. It seemed
to suit him exactly, as he had had tea late. There
never was such an unruffled fellow as he ; had we
BILLETS 249
wanted to begin before the time appointed, he would
have been ravenous. So he continued the descrip-
tion of his adventures on leave. Meanwhile I
rescued Comic Cuts from the hands of Paul, and
despatched them, duly initialled, by the trusty
Davies to " C" Company. Just as I had done
so the sergeant-major appeared at the door.
" You know the time we move off to-morrow ? "
I said.
Yes, he had known that long before I did, by
means of the regimental sergeant-major and the
orderly sergeant.
" Fall in at 8.15," I said. " Everything the same
as usual. All the officers' servants, and Watson,
are to fall in with the company ; this stragghng in
independently, before or after the company, will
stop once and for all." Lewis' face, as he laid
the soup-plates, turned half a degree redder than
usual.
" There's nothing more ? " I said.
" No, that's all, sir."
The sergeant-major drained off his whiskey with
a dash of Perrier, and prepared to go. Now was the
psychological moment when one learnt any news
there was to learn about the battalion.
" No news, I suppose ? " I asked.
" The fellows are still talking about this ' rest,'
sir. No news about that, I suppose ? " said the
sergeant-major.
" Only that it's shghtly overdue," I answered.
250 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
with a laugh. " What do you think, Jim ? Any
Hkehhood of this three weeks' rest coming off ? "
"Oh, yes ; I should think so," said the quarter-
master. " Any time next year."
" Good night, sir," said Sergeant-Major Brown,
with a grin.
" Good night, Sergeant-Major," came in a chorus
as he disappeared into the garden.
" Soup's ready, sir," said Lewis. And we sat
down to dine.
The extraordinary thing about having Jim Potter
in to dinner was that an extra elaborate menu was
always provided, and yet old Jim himself always ate
less than anyone else ; still, he did his share nobly
with the whiskey, so that made up for it, I suppose.
To-night Edwards planned " sausages and mash "
as an entree ; but, whether through superior know-
ledge or a mere misunderstanding, the sausages
arrived seated carefully on the top of the round of
beef, like marrons-glaces stuck on an iced cake. As
the dish was placed, amid howls of execration, on
the table, one of the unsteadier sausages staggered
and fell with a splash into the gravy, much to every-
one's delight ; Edwards, wiping the gravy spots off
his best tunic, seemed the only member of the party
who did not greet with approbation this novel dish.
After soup, sausages and beef, and rice-pudding
and tinned fruit, came Watson's special dish — cheese
au gratin on toast. This was a glutinous concoction,
and a little went a long way. Then followed cafe au
BILLETS 251
lait made in the teapot, which was the signal for
cigarettes to be ht up, and chairs to be moved a Uttle
to allow of a comfortable expansion of legs. Owen
proposed sitting out in the summer-house, but on
going outside reported that it was a little too chilly.
So we remained where we were.
Edwards was talking of Amiens : he had been
there for the day yesterday, and incidentally dis-
covered that there was a cathedral there.
" I know it," said L "I used to go there every
Saturday when I was at the Army School."
" You had a good time at the Army School, didn't
you ? " asked Jim.
" Tip-top time," said L " It's a really good show.
The Commandant was the most wonderful man we
ever met. By the way, that concert Tuesday night
was a really good show."
Jim Potter and Edwards had got it up ; it had
been an al fresco affair, and the night had been
ideally warm for it. Edwards had trained a Welsh
choir with some success. Several outsiders had con-
tributed, the star of the evening being Basil Hallam,
the well-known music-hall artist, whose dainty
manner, reminding one of the art of Vesta Tilley,
and impeccable evening clothes had produced an
unforgettably bizarre effect in the middle of such an
audience and within sound of the guns. He was
well known to most of the men as " the bloke that
sits up in the sausage." For any fine day, coming
out of trenches or going in, you could see high
252 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
suspended the " sausage," whose home and " base "
was between Treux and Mericourt, and whose
occupant and eye was Basil Hallam. And so the
" sausage bloke " was received enthusiastically at
our concert.
As we talked about the concert, Owen began
singing " Now Florrie was a Flapper," which had
been Basil Hallam 's most popular song, and as he
sang he rose from his chair and walked about the
room ; he was evidently enjoying himself, though
his imitation of Basil Hallam was very bad indeed.
As he sang, we went on talking.
" A good entry in Comic Cuts to-night," I re-
marked. " ' A dog was heard barking in Fricourt at
II p.m.' Someone must have been hard up for
intelligence to put that in."
" A dog barking in Fricourt," said old Jim, warm-
ing up. '"A dog barking in Fricourt.' What's that —
Corps stuff ? I never read the thing ; good Lord, no !
That's what it is to have a Staff — ' A dog barking in
Fricourt ! ' "
" The Corps officer didn't hear it," said I. " It
was some battalion intelligence officer that was such
a fool as to report it."
" Fool ? " said old Jim. "I'd like to meet the
fellow. He's the first fellow I've ever met yet who
has a just appreciation of the brain capacity of the
Staff. You or I might have thought of reporting a
dog's mew, or roar, or bellow ; but a dog's bark we
should have thought of no interest whatever to the —
BILLETS 253
er — fellows up there, you know, who plan our
destinies." And he gave an obsequious flick of his
hand to an imaginary person too high up to see him
at all.
" He's a good fellow," he repeated, " that intelli-
gence officer. Ought to get a D.S.O."
Old Jim had two South African medals, a D.C.M.
and a D.S.O.
" The Staff," he went on, with the greatest con-
tempt he could put into his voice. " I saw three of
them in a car to-day. I stood to attention : saluted.
A young fellow waved his hand, you know ; graci-
ously accepted my salute, you know, and passed on
leaning back in his limousin. The ' Brains of the
British Army,' I thought. Pah ! "
We waited. Jim on the Staff was the greatest
entertainment the battalion could offer. We tried
to draw him out further, but he would not be
drawn. We tried cunningly, by indirect methods,
enquiring his views on whether there would be a
push this year.
" Push ! " he said. " Of course there will be a
push. The Staff must have something to show for
themselves. ' Shove 'em in,' they say ; ' rather
a bigger front than last time.' Strategy ? Oh, no !
That's out of date, you know. Five-mile front —
frontal attack. Get a few hundred thousand mown
down, and then discover the Boche has got a second
line. TheStaff. Pah!!" And no more would he say.
Then Clark came in, and the Manchester Stokes
254 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
gun ofBcer. Clark immediately joined Owen in a
duet on " Florrie." Then we went through the
whole gamut of popular songs, with appropriate
actions and stamping of feet upon the floor. Mean-
while the table was cleared, only the whiskey and
Perrier remaining. Soon there were cries of
" Napoleon — Napoleon," and Owen, who bears a
remarkable resemblance to that great personage,
posed tragically again and again amid great applause.
And then, in natural sequence, I, as " Bill, the man
wot won the Battle of Waterloo," attacked him with
every species of trench-mortar I could lay hands on,
my head swathed in a remarkable turban of Daily
Mail. At last I drove him into a corner behind a
table, and bombarded him relentlessly with oranges
until he capitulated ! All the time Edwards had
been in fear and trembling for the safety of his
gramophone.
At length peace was signed, and we grew quiet
again beneath the soothing strains of the gramo-
phone, until at last Jim Potter said he must really
go. Everyone reminding everyone else that break-
fast was at seven, we broke up the party, and Owen,
Paul, Jim Potter and I departed together. But
anyone who knows the psychology of conviviality
will understand that we had first to pay a visit to a
neighbouring Mess for one last whiskey-and-soda
before turning in.
As I opened the door of my billet, I heard a
" strafe " getting up. There was a lively cannonade
BILLETS 255
up in the line ; for several minutes I listened, until
it diminished a Httle, and began to die away. " In "
to-morrow, I thought. My vahse was laid out on
the floor, and my trench kit all ready for packing
first thing next morning. I lost no time in getting
into bed. And yet I could not sleep.
I could not help thinking of the jolUty of the last
few hours, the humour, the apparently spontaneous
outburst of good spirits ; and most of all I thought
of old Jim, the mainspring somehow of it all. And
again I saw the picture of the concert a few nights
ago, the bright hghts of the stage, the crowds of our
fellows, all their bodies and spirits for the moment
relaxed, good-natured, happy, as they stood laugh-
ing in the warm night air. And lastly I thought
again of Private Benjamin, that refined eager face,
that rather delicate body, and that warm hand as
I placed mine over his, squeezing the trigger. He
was no more than a child really, a simple-minded
child of Wales. Somehow it was more terrible that
these young boys should see this war, than for the
older men. Yet were we not all children wondering,
wondering, wondering ? . . . Yes, we were like
children faced by a wild beast. " Sometimes I
dislike you almost," I thought ; " your dulness,
your coarseness, your lack of romance, your un-
attractiveness. Yet that is only physical. You,
I love really. Oh, the dear, dear world ! "
And in the darkness I buried my face in the pillow,
and sobbed.
CHAPTER XV
"A CERTAIN MAN DREW A BOW AT A
VENTURE "
IT was ten o'clock as I came in from the wiring-
party in front of Rue Albert, and at that
moment our guns began. We were in Maple
Redoubt. The moon had just set, and it was a
still summer night in early June.
" Come and have a look," I called to Owen, who
had just entered the dug-out. I could see him
standing with his back to the candlelight reading a
letter or something.
He came out, and together we looked across the
valley at the shoulder of down that was silhouetted
by the continuous light of gun-flickers. Our guns
had commenced a two hours' bombardment.
" No answer from the Boche yet," I said.
" They're firing on C 2, down by the cemetery."
" Yes, I hardly noticed it ; our guns make such a
row. By Jove, it's magnificent."
We gazed fascinated for a long time, and then
went into the dug-out where Edwards and Paul
were snoring rhythmically. I read for half an hour,
but the dug-out was stuffy, and the smell of sand-
256
" A BOW AT A VENTURE " 257
bags and the flickering of the candle annoyed me
for some reason or other. Somehow " Derehcts "
by W. J. Locke failed to grip my attention. Owing
to our bombardment, there were no working-
parties, in case the Germans should take it into
their head to retahate vigorously. But at present
there was no sign of that.
I went outside again, and walked along Park
Lane until I came to the Lewis-gun position just
this side of the corner of Wathng Street. The
sentry was standing up, with his elbows on the
ground level (tjiere was no parapet) gazing alert
and interested at the continuous flicker of our
shells bursting along the enemy's trenches. Lance-
Corporal Allan looked out of the dug-out, and,
seeing me, came out and stood by us. And together
we watched, all three of us, in silence. Overhead
was the continual griding, screeching, whistling of
the shells as they passed over, without pause or
cessation ; behind was a chain of gun-flickers the
other side of the ridge ; and in front was another
chain of flashes, and a succession of bump, bump,
bumps, as the shells burst relentlessly in the German
trenches. And where we stood, under the noisy
arch, was a steady calm.
" This is all right, sir," said Lance-Corporal Allan.
He was the N.C.O. in charge of this Lewis-gun
team.
" Yes," said L " The artillery are not on short
rations to-night."
17
258 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
For always, through the last four months, the
artillery had been more or less confined to so many
shells a day. The officers used to tell us they had
any amount of ammunition, yet no sooner were
they given a free hand to retaliate as much as we
wanted, than an order came cancelling this privilege.
To-night at any rate there was no curtailment.
" I believe this is the beginning of a new order
of things," I said, half musing, to myself ; " that is,
I believe the Boche is going to get lots and lots of
this now."
" About time, sir," said the sentry.
" Is there a push coming off ? " said Lance-
Corporal Allan.
" I don't know," I repHed. " But I expect we
shall be doing something soon. It's quite certain
we're going to get our three weeks' rest after this
turn in. The Brigade Major told me so."
Corporal Allan smiled, and as he did so the
flashes lit up his face. He was quite a boy, only
eighteen, I believe, but an excellent N.C.O. He
had a very beautiful though sensuous face that
used to remind me sometimes of the " Satyr " of
Praxiteles. His only fault was an inclination to
sulkiness at times, which was perhaps due to a
little streak of vanity. It was no wonder the
maidens of Morlancourt made eyes at him, and a
little girl who lived next door to the Lewis-gunner's
billet was said to have lost her heart long ago. To-
night I felt a pang as I saw him smile.
" A BOW AT A VENTURE " 259
" We'll see," I said. " Anyway it's going to be
a good show giving the Bochc these sort of pleasant
dreams. Better than those one-minute stunts."
I was referring to a one-minute bombardment of
Fricourt Wood, that had taken place last time we
were in the line. It was a good spectacle to see
the wood alive with flames, hear our Vickers' guns
rattling hard behind us from the supports, and see
the Germans firing excited green and red rockets
into the air. But the retaliation had been un-
pleasant, and the whole business seemed not worth
while. This continuous pounding was quite different.
I went back and visited the other gun position,
and spent a few minutes there also. At last I turned
in reluctantly. I went out again at half -past eleven,
and still the shells were screaming over. It seemed
the token of an irresistible power. And there was
no reply at all now from the German lines.
The short summer nights made life easier in some
respects. We " stood to " earlier, and it was quite
light by three. As I turned in again, I paused for a
moment to take in the scene. Davies had retired
to a small dug-out, that looked exactly like a dog-
kennel, and was not much larger. As Davies him-
self frequently reminded me of a very intelligent
sheepdog, the dog-kennel seemed most suitable. I
heard him turning about inside, as I stood at the
door of our own dug-out.
The scene was one of the most perfect peace.
260 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
The sun was not up, but by now the Hght was firm
and strong ; night had melted away. I went back
and walked a little way along Park Lane until I
came to a gap in the newly erected sand-bag parados.
I went through the gap and into a little graveyard
that had not been used now for several months.
And there I stood in the open, completely hidden
from the enemy, on the reverse slope of the hill.
Below me were the dug-outs of 71 North, and away
to the left those of the Citadel. Already I could
see smoke curling up from the cookers. There was
a faint mist still hanging about over the road there,
that the strong light would soon dispel. On the
hill-side opposite lay the familiar tracery of Redoubt
A, and the white zigzag mark of Maidstone Avenue
climbing up well to the left of it, until it disappeared
over the ridge. Close to my feet the meadow was
full of buttercups and blue veronica, with occasional
daisies starring the grass. And below, above, every-
where, it seemed, was the tremulous song of count-
less larks, rising, growing, sweUing, till the air
seemed full to breaking-point.
And there was not a sound of war. Who could
desecrate such a perfect June morning ? I felt a
mad impulse to run up and across into No Man's
Land and cry out that such a day was made for
lovers ; that we were all enmeshed in a mad night-
marc, that needed but a bold man's laugh to free
us from its clutches ! Surely this most exquisite
morning could not be the birth of another day of
" A BOW AT A VENTURE " 261
pain ? Yet I felt how vain and hopeless was the
longing, as I turned at last and saw the first slant
rays of sunlight touch the white sand-bags into
life.
" What time's this working-party ? " asked Paul
at four o'clock that afternoon.
" I told the sergeant-major to get the men out
as soon as they'd finished tea," I replied. " About
a quarter to five they ought to be ready. He will
let you know all right."
" Hullo ! " said Paul.
" What are you ' hulloing ' about ? " I asked.
Paul did not answer. Faintly I heard a " wheeoo,
wheeoo, wheeoo," that grew louder and louder and
ended in a swishing roar like a big wave breaking
against an esplanade — and then " wump — ^wump —
wump — wump " four 4-2's exploded beyond the
parados of Park Lane.
" Well over," said Edwards.
" I expected this," I answered. " They've been
too d — d quiet all day — especially after the pounding
we gave them last night."
" There they are again," I added. This time I
had heard the four distant thuds, and we all waited.
" Wump, wump — Crump." There was a colossal
din, the two candles went out, and there was a
shaking and jarring in the blackness. Then followed
the sound of falling stuff, and I felt a few patters of
earth all over me. Gradually it got lighter, and
262 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
through the smoke-filled doorway the square of
daylight reappeared.
" Je ne Faime pas," said I, as we all waited,
without speaking. Then Edwards struck a match
and lit the candles ; all the table, floor, and beds
were sprinkled with dust and earth. Then Da vies
burst in.
" Are you all right ? " we asked.
" Yessir. Are you ? "
" Oh, we're all right, Davies," said I. " But
there's a job for Lewis cleaning this butter up."
At length we went outside, stepping over a heap
of loose yielding earth, mixed up with lumps of
chalk and bits of frayed sand-bags. Outside, the
trench was blocked with debris of a similar kind.
Already two men had crossed it, and several men
were about to do so. It was old already. There
was still a smell of gunpowder in the air, and a lot
of chalk dust that irritated your nose.
" I think I'll tell the sergeant-major not to get
the working-party out just yet," I said to Paul.
" They often start like that and then put lots more
over about a quarter of an hour later." And I sped
along Park Lane quickly.
As I returned I heard footsteps behind me. I
looked round, but the men were hidden by a tra-
verse. And then came tragedy, sudden, and
terrible. I have seen many bad sights — every man
killed is a tragedy — but one avoids and hides away
the hideousness as soon as possible. But never.
" A BOW AT A VENTURE " 263
save once perhaps, have I seen the thing so vile as
now.
" Look out ! " I heard a voice from behind. And
as I heard the shell screaming down, I tumbled into
the nearest dug-out. The shell burst with a huge
" crump," but not so close as the one that had
darkened our dug-out ten minutes before. Then
again another four shells burst together, but some
forty or fifty yards away. I waited one, two
minutes. And then I heard men running in the
trench.
As I sprang up the dug-out steps, I saw two
stretcher-bearers standing looking round the tra-
verse. And then there was the faint whistling over-
head and they pushed me back as they almost fell
down the dug-out steps.
" Is there a man hurt ? " I asked. " We can't
leave him."
" He's dead," said one. And as he spoke there
were three more explosions a Httle to the left.
" Are you sure ? "
" Aye," said the stretcher-bearer and closed his
eyes tight.
" He's past our help," said the other man.
At last, after a minute's calm, we stepped out
into the sunshine. I went round the traverse,
following the two stretcher-bearers. And looking
between them, as they stood gazing, this is what I
saw.
In the trench, half buried in rags of sand-bag and
264 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
loose chalk, lay what had been a man. His head
was nearest to me, and at that I gazed fascinated ;
for the shell had cut it clean in half, and the face
lay like a mask, its features unmarred at all, a full
foot away from the rest of the head. The flesh
was grey, that was all ; the open eyes, the nose,
the mouth were not even twisted awry. It was
like the fragment of a sculpture. All the rest of the
body was a mangled mass of flesh and khaki.
" Who is it ? " whispered a stretcher-bearer,
bending his head down to look sideways at that
mask.
" Find his identity-disc," said the other.
" It is Lance-Corporal Allan," said I.
Then up came the regimental sergeant-major,
and Owen followed him. They too gazed in horror
for a moment. The sergeant-major was the first
to recover.
" Hi ! you fellows," he called to two men. " Get
a waterproof sheet."
" Come away, old man," said I to Owen.
In silence we walked back to the dug-out. But
my brain was whirling. " A certain man drew a
bow at a venture," I thought again. That was how
it was possible. No man could keep on kilhng, if
he could see the men he killed. Who had fired that
howitzer shell ? A German gunner somewhere right
away in Mametz Wood probably. He would never
see his handiwork, never know what he had done
" A BOW AT A VENTURE " 265
to-day. He would never see ; that was the point.
Had he known, he would have rejoiced that there
was one Englishman less in the world. It was not
his fault. We were just the same. What of last
night's bombardment ? (The memory of Lance-
Corporal Allan up by his gun-position gave me a
quick sharp pang.) Had we not watched with
glittering eyes the magnificent shooting of our own
gunners ? This afternoon's strafe was but a puny
retaliation.
Slowly it came back to me, the half-formed pic-
ture that had arisen in my mind the night of David-
son's death. " A certain man drew a bow at a
venture," expressed it perfectly. It was splendid
twanging the bow, feeling the fingers grip the
polished wood, watching the bow-string stretch
and strain, and then letting the arrow fly. That
was the fascinating, the deadly fascinating side
of war. That was what made it possible to
" carry on." I remembered my joy in calling up
the artillery in revenge for Thompson's death.
And then again, whenever we put a mine up, how
exhilarating was the spectacle ! Throwing a bomb,
firing a Lewis gun, all these things were pleasant.
It was hke the joy of throwing stones over a barn
and hearing them splash into a pond ; like driving
a cricket ball out of the field.
But the arrows fell somewhere. That was the
other side of war. The dying king leant on his
chariot, propped up until the sun went down. The
266 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
man who had fired the bolt never knew he had
killed a king. That was the other side of war ;
that was the side that counted. What I had just
seen was war.
I leaned my face on my arm against the parados.
Oh, this unutterable tragedy ! Had there ever
been such a thing before ? Why was this thing so
terrible ? Why did I have this feeling of battering
against some relentless power ? Death. There
were worse things than death. There were sights,
such as I had just come from, as terrible in every-
day life, in any factory explosion or railway accident.
There was nothing new in death. Vaguely my mind
felt out for something to express this thing so far
more terrible than mere death. And then I saw it.
Vividly I saw the secret of war.
What made war so cruel, was the force that com-
pelled you to go on. After a factory explosion you
cleared up things and then took every precaution
to prevent its recurrence ; but in war you did
the opposite, you used all your energies to make
more explosions. You killed and went on killing ;
you saw men die around you, and you deliberately
went on with the thing that would cause more of
your friends to die. You were placed in an arena,
and made to fight the beasts ; and if you killed
one beast, there were more waiting, and more and
more. And above the arena, out of it, secure,
looked down the glittering eyes of the men who
had placed you there ; cruel, relentless eyes, that
" A BOW AT A VENTURE " 267
went on glittering while the mouths expressed ad-
miration for your impossible struggles, and pity
for your fate !
" Oh God ! I shall go mad 1 " I thought, in the
agony of my mind. I saw into that strange empty
chamber which is called madness : I knew what it
would be like to go mad. And even as I saw, came
the thought again of those glittering eyes, and the
ruthless answer to my soul's cry : " The war is
utterly indifferent whether you go mad or not."
Owen was standing waiting for me. 1 grew calm
again, and turned and put my hand on his shoulder.
Together we reached the door of the dug-out.
" Oh, Bill," he said, " have you ever seen anything
more awful ? "
" Only once. No, not more awful : more beastly.
Nothing could be more awful."
We told the others.
" Not Allan ? " said Edwards. He was Lewis-gun
officer, and Allan was his best man.
" Not Allan ? " he repeated. " Oh, how will they
tell his little girl in Morlancourt ? What will she
say when she learns she will never see him again ? "
" Thank God she never saw him as we saw him
just now," I said, " and thank God his mother
never saw him."
" If women were in this war, there would be no
war," said Edwards.
" I wonder," said I.
CHAPTER XVI
WOUNDED
ECE-CORPORAL ALLAN was kiUed on
Tuesday the 6th of June. For the rest
of that day I was all " on edge." I wondered
sometimes how I could go on : even in billets I
dreamed of rifle-grenades ; and though I had only
returned from leave a fortnight ago, I felt as tired
out in body and mind as I did before I went. And
this last horror did not add to my peace of mind.
I very nearly quarrelled with Captain Wetherell,
the battalion Lewis-gun officer, over the position
of a Lewis gun. There had been a change of
company front, and some readjustments had to be
made. I believe I told him he had not got the
remotest idea of our defence scheme, or something
of the sort ! My nerves were all jangled, and my
brain would not rest a second. We were nearly
all Uke that at times.
I decided therefore to go out again to-night with
our wires. I had been out last night, and Owen
was going to-night, but 1 wanted to be doing some-
thing to occupy my thoughts. I knew I should
not sleep. At a quarter to ten I sent word to
268
WOUNDED 269
Corporal Dyson, the wiring-corporal, to take his
men up at eleven instead of ten, as the moon had
not quite set. At eleven o'clock Owen and I were
out in No Man's Land putting out concertina wire
between 8oa and 8ia bombing posts, which had
recently been connected up by a deep narrow trench.
There was what might be called a concertina craze
on : innumerable coils of barbed wire were con-
verted into concertinas by the simple process of
winding them round and round seven upright
stakes in the ground ; every new lap of wire was
fastened to the one below it at every other stake
by a twist of plain wire ; the result, when you came
to the end of a coil and lifted the whole up ofi the
stakes was a heavy ring of barbed wire that con-
certina'd out into ten-yard lengths. They were
easily made up in the trench, quickly put up, and
when put out in two parallel rows, about a yard
apart, and joined together with plenty of barbed
wire tangled in loosely, were as good an obstacle
as could be made. We had some thirty of these to
put out to-night.
When you are out wiring you forget all about
being in No Man's Land, unless the Germans are
sniping across. The work is one that absorbs all
your interest, and your one concern is to get the
job done quickly and well. I really cannot re-
member whether the enemy had been sniping or
not (I use the word " sniping " to denote firing
occasional shots across with fixed rifles sited by
270 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
day). I remember that I forgot all about Captain
Wetherell and his Lewis-gun positions, as soon as I
was outside the bombing post at 8oa. There were
about fifteen yards between this post and the crater-
edge, where I had a couple of " A " Company
bombers out as a covering party. But in this
fifteen yards were several huge shell-holes, and we
were concealing the wire in these as much as
possible. It was fascinating work, and I felt we
could not get on fast enough with it. After a
time I went along to Owen, whose party was
working on my left. Here Corporal Dyson and
four men were doing well also. All this strip of
land between the trench and the crater edge was
an extraordinary tangle of shell-holes, old beams
and planks, and scraps of old wire. Every square
yard of it had been churned and pounded to bits
at different times by canisters and " sausages "
and such-like. Months ago there had been a trench
along the crater edges ; but new mines had altered
these, and until we had dug the deep, narrow trench
between 80 A and 81 a about a fortnight ago, there
had been no trench there for at least five months.
The result was a chaotic jumble, and this jumble
we were converting into an obstacle by judiciously
placed concertina wiring.
I repeat that I cannot remember if there had
been much sniping across. I had just looked at
my luminous watch, which reported ten past one,
when I noticed that the sky in the east began to
WOUNDED 271
show up a little paler than the German parapet
across the crater. " Dawn," I thought, " already.
There is no night at all, really. We must knock
off in a quarter of an hour. The hght will not be
behind us, but half-past one will be time to stop."
I was lying out by the bombers, gazing into the
black of the crater. It was a warm night, and
jolly lying out Uke this, though a bit damp and
muddy round the shell-holes. Then I got up, told
Corporal Evans to come in after fixing the coil
he was putting up, and was walking towards 8oA
post, when " Bang " I heard from across the crater,
and I felt a big sting in my left elbow, and a jar
that numbed my whole arm.
" Ow," I cried out involuntarily, and doubled
the remaining few yards, and scrambled down into
the trench.
Corporal Dyson was there.
" Are you hit, sir ? "
" Yes. Nothing much — here in the arm. Get
the wirers in. It'll be hght soon."
Then somehow I found my equipment and tunic
off ; there seemed a lot of men round me ; and I
tried to reaUse that I was really hit. My arm hung
numb and stiff, with the after-taste of a sting in it.
I felt this could not be a proper wound, as there
was no real throbbing pain such as I expected.
I was surprised when I saw a lot of blood in the
half light. Corporal Dyson asked me if I had a
field-dressing, and I said he would find one in the
272 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
bottom right-hand corner of my tunic. To my
annoyance he did not seem to hear, and used one
of the men's. Then Owen appeared, with a serious
peering face.
" Are all the wirers in ? " I asked.
" Yes," he answered. " How are you feeling ? "
His serious tone amused me. I wanted to say,
" Good heavens, man, I'm as fit as anything. I
shall be back to-morrow, I expect," But I felt
very tired and rather out of breath as I answered
" Oh ! all right."
By this time my arm was bandaged and I started
walking back to Maple Redoubt, leaning on Corporal
Dyson. I wanted to joke, but felt too tired. It
seemed an interminable way down, especially along
Watling Street.
I had only once looked into the dressing-station,
although I must have passed it several hundred
times. I was surprised at its size : there were two
compartments. As I stepped down inside, I
wondered if it were shell-proof. In the inner
chamber I could hear the doctor's quick low voice,
teUing a man to move the lamp : and it seemed
to flash across me for the first time that there
ought to be some kind of guarantee against dressing-
stations being blown in like any ordinary dug-out.
And yet I knew there was no possibiHty of any
such guarantee.
" Hullo, Bill, old man," said the Httle doctor,
coming out quickly. " Where's this thing of yours ?
WOUNDED 273
In the arm, isn't it ? Let's have a look. Oh yes,
I see. (He examined the bandage, and the arai
above it.) Well, I won't be long. You won't mind
waiting a few minutes, will you ? I've got a bad
case in here. Hall, get him to sit down, and give
him some Bovril."
And he was gone. No man could move or make
men move quicker than the doctor.
I felt apologetic : I had chosen a bad time to
come, just when the doctor was busy with this
other man. I asked who the fellow was, and learned
he was a private from " D " Company. I was very
grateful for the Bovril. A good idea, this, I thought,
having Bovril ready for you.
I waited about ten minutes, sitting on a chair.
I listened to the movements and low voices inside.
" Turn him over. Here. No, those longer ones.
Good heavens, didn't I tell you to get this changed
yesterday ? Now. That'll do," and so on. I
turned my head round in silence, observing acutely
every detail in this antechamber, as one does in a
dentist's waiting-room. All the time in my arm
I felt this numb wasp-sting ; I wondered when the
real pain would start ; there was no motion in
this still smart.
" Now then, Bill," said the doctor. " So sorry
to keep you. Let's have a look at it. Oh, that's
nothing very bad."
It smarted as he undid the bandage. I don't
know what he did. I never looked at it.
i8
274 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
" What sort of a one is it ? " I asked.
" I could just do with one like this myself,"
said the doctor,
" Is it a Blighty one ? "
"I'd give you a fiver for it any minute," answered
the doctor. " I'm not certain whether the bone's
broken or not, but I rather think it is touched. I
can't say, though. A bullet, did you say ? Are
you sure ? "
" Very sure," I laughed.
" Well, it must be one of these explosive bullets,
an ordinary bullet doesn't make a wound like yours.
That's it. That'll do."
" I can't make out why there's not more pain,"
said I.
" Oh, that'll come later. You see the shock
paralyses you at first. Here, take one of these."
And he gave me a morphia tabloid.
" Cheero, Bill," he said, and I went out of the
dug-out leaning on a stretcher-bearer. Round my
neck hung a label, the first of a long series. " Gun-
shot wound in left forearm " it contained. I found
later " ? fracture. 1.15 a.m., 7.6.16."
Outside Lewis was waiting with my trench kit.
He had appeared a quarter of an hour back at the
door of the dressing-station, and had been told by
the doctor so rapidly and forcibly that he ought
to know that he would go with me to the clearing
station, and that he had five minutes in which to
get my kit together, that he had fairly sprinted
WOUNDED 275
away. Poor fellow ! How should he know, seeing
that he had been my servant over six months,
and I had never got wounded before ? But the
doctor always made men double.
As I passed our dug-out, Edwards, Owen, Paul,
and Nicholson were all standing outside.
" Cheero," I shouted. " Good luck. The doctor
says it's nothing much. I'll be back soon."
" What about that Lewis-gun position ? " asked
Edwards.
" Oh," I said, " I want to keep that position on
the left." Then I felt my decision waver. " Still,
if Wetherell wants the other ... I don't know."
" All right. I'll fix up with Wetherell. Good
luck. Hope you get to Bhghty."
I wanted to say such a lot. I wanted to say that
I was sure to be back in a week or so. I wanted
to think hard, and decide about that Lewis gun.
I wanted to send a message to Wetherell apologising
for what I had said. ... I wanted to talk to Ser-
geant Andrews, who was standing there too. But
the stretcher-bearer was walking on, and I must
go as he pleased.
" Good-bye, Sergeant Andrews," I shouted.
Last of all I saw Davies, standing solemn and
dumb.
" Good-bye, Davies. Off to Blighty."
I could not see if he answered. The relentless
stretcher-bearer led me on. Was I O.C. stretcher-
bearers or was I not ? Why didn't I stop him ?
276 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
I had not decided about that Lewis gun. At the
corner of Old Kent Road, I was told I might as
well sit on the ration trolley and go down on that.
And in the full Hght of dawn, about half-past two,
I was rolled serenely down the hill to the Citadel.
" Don't let go," I said to the stretcher-bearer,
who was holding the trolley back. I still thought of
sending up a message about that Lewis-gun position.
Why could not I make up my mind ? I looked back
and saw Maple Redoubt receding further and further
in the distance.
" By Jove," I thought, " I may not see it again
for weeks." And suddenly I reaHsed that whether
I made up my mind about the Lewis-gun position
or not, would not make the slightest difference !
" Where do I go to now ? " said I.
" There's an ambulance at the Citadel," said the
stretcher-bearer. " You're quite right. You'll be
in Heilly in a Httle over an hour."
Heilly ? Why, this would be interesting, I
thought. And I should just go, and have nothing
to decide. I should be passive. I was going right
out of the arena !
And the events of yesterday seemed a dream
already.
Wednesday
I lay in bed, at the clearing station at Heilly.
It was just after nine o'clock the same morning,
and the orderlies were out of sight, but not out
WOUNDED 277
of hearing, washing up the breakfast tilings. Half
the dark blue bUnds were drawn, as the June sun
was blazing outside. I could see the glare of it
on the cobbles in the court^^ard, as the door opened
and a cool, tall nurse entered. I closed my eyes,
and pretended to be asleep. I felt she might come
and talk, and one thing I did not want to do,
I did not want to talk.
My body was most extraordinarily comfortable.
I moved my feet toes-up for the sheer joy of feeling
the smooth sheets fall cool on my feet when I
turned them sideways again. The pillow was com-
fortable ; the whole bed was comfortable ; even my
arm, that was throbbing violently now, and felt
boiling hot, was very comfortably rested on another
pillow. I just wanted to he, and he : only my
mind was working so fast and hard that it
seemed to make the skin tight over my forehead.
And all the time there was that buzz, buzzing.
If I left off thinking, the buzzing took complete
mastery of my brain. That was intolerable : so I
had to keep on thinking.
At the Citadel an R.A.M.C. doctor had given me
tea and a second label. He had also given me an
injection against tetanus. This he did in the chest.
Why didn't he do it in my right arm, I had thought :
I would have rather had it there. Again, I had had
to wait quite a quarter of an hour, while he attended
to the " D " Company private. I had learned from
an orderly that this poor fellow was bound to lose
278 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
a leg, and again I had felt that I was in the way
here, that I was a bother. I had then watched the
poor fellow carried out on a stretcher, and the
stretcher slid into the ambulance. There was a
seat inside, into which I was helped. Lewis had
gone in front, very red-faced and awkward. And
an R.A.M.C. orderly had got in behind with me.
Sitting, I had felt that he must think I was sham-
ming ! Then I remembered the first ambulance
I had seen, when I first walked from Chocques to
Bcthune in early October ! Was there really any
connection between me then and me now ?
Then there had been a rather pleasant journey
through unknown country, it seemed. After a few
miles, we halted and changed into another ambu-
lance. As I had stood in the sunshine a moment,
I had tried to make out where we were. But I
could not recognise anything, and felt very tired.
There was a white chalk road, a grass bank, and
a house close by : that is all I could remember.
And then there was another long ride, in which
my one paramount idea was to rest my arm (which
was in a white sling) and prevent it shaking and
jarring.
Then at last we had reached a village and pulled
up in a big sunUt courtyard. Again as I walked
into a big room I felt that people must think I
was shamming. A matron had come in, and a
doctor. Did I mind sitting and waiting a minute
or so ? Would I Hke some tea ? I had refused tea.
WOUNDED 279
Then the doctor and an orderly came in, and the
doctor asked some questions and took off my label.
The orderly was taking off my boots, and the doctor
had started helping ! I had apologised profusely,
for they were trench boots thick with mud. And
then the doctor had asked me whether I could wait
until about eleven before they looked at my arm :
meanwhile it would be better, as I should be more
rested after a few hours in bed. Bed ! I had never
thought of going to bed for an arm at all ! What a
delicious idea ! I felt so tired, too. I had not been
to bed all night. Then I had been helped into this
deUghtful bed, and after scrawling a letter home
to go away by the eight o'clock post (I was glad
I had remembered that), I had been left in peace
at about half-past four. And here I was ! I had
had a cup of tea for breakfast, but did not want
to eat anything.
I wished I could go to sleep. Yet it was not
much good now, if they were going to look at my
arm at eleven. I opened my eyes whenever I was
sure there was no one near me. Then I thought
I might as well keep them open, otherwise they
would think I had slept, and not know how tired
out I felt. There was a man in the next bed with
his head all bandaged ; and round the bed in the
corner was a screen. Opposite was an R.A.M.C.
doctor, as far as I could gather ; he was talking
to the nurse, and looked perfectly well. I thought
perhaps he might be the sort who would talk late
280 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
when I wanted to sleep — he looked so well and
lively ; suppose he had a gramophone and wanted
to play it this afternoon. I should really have to
complain, if he did. Yet perhaps they would under-
stand, and make him give it up because of us who
were not so well. On my right, up at the other
end of the room (was it a " ward " ? yes, I suppose
it was) were several voices, but I could not turn
over and look at their owners, with my arm like this.
How it throbbed and pulsed ! Or was it aching ?
Supposing I got pins and needles in it. . . .
A khaki-clad padre came in. He just came
over and asked me if I wanted anything, and did
not worry me with talking. He had a very quiet
voice and bald head. I liked both. I felt I
ought to have wanted something : had I been
discourteous ?
The door opened, and the doctor entered, with
another nurse and another doctor. Somehow this
last person electrified everyone and everything. Who
was he ? His very walk was somehow different
from the ordinary. My attention was riveted on
him ; somehow I felt that he knew I was there,
and yet he did not look at me. They wheeled a
little table up from the other end of the room,
laden with glasses and bottles and glittering httle
silver forks and things. I could not see clearly.
An orderly was reprimanded by the nurse for some-
thing, in a subdued voice. There was a hush and
a tenseness in this man's presence. Yet he was
WOUNDED 281
calmly looking at a newspaper, and sitting on an
empty bed as he did so ! Apparently Kitchener
was reported drowned in the North Sea : he spoke
in a rich, almost drawling voice. He was immensely
casual ! And yet one did not mind. He walked
over and washed his hands, and put on some
yellowy-brown india-rubber gloves that scrooped
and squelched in the basins. And then he turned
round, and the other doctor (whom I had seen at
four o'clock and who already seemed a sort of
confidential friend of mine in the presence of this
master-man) asked him, which case he wanted to
see first. And as he jerked his hand casually to
one of the beds, I was filled with a strange elation.
This was a surgeon, I felt ; and one in whom I
had immense confidence. He would do the best
for my arm : he would make no mistakes. I almost
laughed for sheer joy !
He came at last to my bed and glanced at me.
He never smiled. He asked me one or two questions.
I said I was " ? fracture," that my arm was throbbing
but felt numb more than anything.
" I suppose we may presume there is a fracture,"
said he ; "at any rate there is no point in looking
at it here. I'll look at it under an anaesthetic,"
he said to me, not unkindly, but still without a
smile. And a httle later, as he went out, he half
looked back at my bed.
" Eleven o'clock," he said to the nurse as he went
out.
282 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
The tension relaxed. An orderly spoke in a bold
ordinary voice. The spell was gone out with the
man.
" Who is that ? " I asked the nurse
" Oh ! that's Mr. Bevan ; he's a very good
surgeon indeed."
" I know," said I, " I can feel that."
About an hour later, two orderlies whom I had
not seen before came in with a stretcher, and laid
it on the floor by the bed. The tall nurse asked me
if I had any false teeth, and said I had better put
socks on, as my feet might get cold. The orderly
did this, and then they helped me on to the stretcher.
My head went back, and I felt a strain on my neck.
The next second my head was lifted and a pillow
put under it. And they had moved me without
altering the position of my arm. I was surprised
and pleased at that. Then a blanket was put over
me, and one of the orderlies said " Ready ? "
" Yes," I said, but suddenly realised he was
talking to the other orderly. I was lifted up, and
carried across the room out into the courtyard.
What a blazing sun ! I closed my eyes.
" Dump, dump, dump." The stretcher seemed
to bob along, with a regular rhythmic swaying.
Then they turned a corner, and I felt a slight nausea.
I opened my eyes. The stretcher was put on a
table. I felt very high up.
The matron-person appeared. She was older
than the nurses, and had a chain with scissors
WOUNDED 283
dangling on the end of it. She smiled, and asked
what kind of a wound it was. Then the orderhes
looked at each other, at some signal that I could
not see, and lifted me up and into the next room.
They held the stretcher up level with the operating
table, and helped me on to it. I did some good
right elbow-work and got on easily. As I did so,
I saw Mr. Bevan sitting on a chair in his white
overall, his gloved hands quietly folded in his lap.
He said and did nothing. Again I felt immensely
impressed by his competence, reserving every ounce
of energy, waiting, until these less masterful beings
had got everything ready.
They took off the blanket, and moved things
behind. Then they put the rubber cup over my
mouth and nose.
" Just breathe quite naturally," said the doctor.
I shut my eyes.
" Just ordinary breaths. That is very good,"
said the voice, quietly and reassuringly.
I felt a sort of sweet shudder all down my body.
I wanted to laugh. Then I let my body go a httle.
It was no good bracing myself. ... I opened my
right hand and shut it, just to show them I was
not " off " yet . . .
The process of " coming to " was unpleasant and
uninteresting. I do not think I distinguished my-
self by any originaUty, so will not attempt to
describe it. That was a long interminable day,
284 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
and my arm hurt a good deal. In the afternoon
I was told that I should be pleased to hear that
there was no bone broken. I was anything but
pleased. I wanted the bone to be broken, as I
wanted to go to " Blighty." This worried me all
day. I wondered if I should get to England or not.
Then in the evening the sister (I found that the
nurses should be called sisters) dressed the wound.
That was distinctly unpleasant. It took hours and
hours and hours before it began to get even twihght.
I have never known so long a day. And then I
could not sleep. They injected morphia at last,
but I awoke after three or four hours feehng more
tired than ever.
Thursday
I can hardly disentangle these days ; night and
day ran into one another. I can remember little
about Thursday. I could not sleep however much
I wanted to ; and all the time my brain was work-
ing so hard, thinking. I worried about the com-
pany : they must be in the line now. Would
Edwards remember this, and that ? Had I left him
the map, or was it among those maps in my vaHse
which Lewis had gone to Morlancourt to fetch ?
And all the time there were rifle-grenades about ;
I daren't let the buzzing come, because it was all
rifle-grenades really ; and always I kept seeing
Lance-Corporal Allan lying there. Why could I
not get rid of the picture of him ? Yet I was afraid
WOUNDED 285
I might forget ; and it was important that I should
remember. . . .
I remember the waiting to have my arm dressed.
It was Hke waiting before the dentist takes up the
drill again. I watched the man next to me out
of the corner of my eye, and felt it intensely if he
seemed to wince, or drew in his breath. And I
remember in the morning Mr. Bevan dressed my
wound. I looked the other way. For a week I
thought the wound was above instead of just below
the elbow. " This will hurt," he said once.
Some time in the day the man behind the screen
died. I had heard him groaning all day ; and there
was the rhythmic sound of pumping — oxygen,
I suppose. ... I heard a lot of moving behind the
screen, and at last it was taken away and I saw
the corner for the first time and in it an empty
bed with clean sheets.
The man next to me, with the bandaged head,
kept talking dehriously to the orderly about his
being on a submarine. Once the orderly smiled at
me as he answered the absurd questions.
There was one good incident I remember. After
the surgeon had dressed my arm, I said, " Is there
any chance of this getting me to Blighty ? " And
I thought he did not hear ; he was looking the
other way. But suddenly I heard that calm
deliberate voice :
" Yes, that is a Bhghty one. There is enough
damage to those muscles to keep you in Blighty
286 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
several months." And this made all the rest bear-
able somehow.
Friday
Again the only sleep I could get was by morphia.
In the morning they told me I should go by a
hospital train leaving at three o'clock. I scrawled
a note or two and gave them to Lewis, and in-
structed him about my kit. I believe they made
an inventory of it. I gave him some maps for
Edwards. And then he said good-bye. And I
thought of him going back, and I going to England.
And I felt ashamed of myself again. I wondered
if the Colonel was annoyed with me.
They gave me gas in the morning. It seemed
such a bother going through all that again : it was
not worth trying to get better. Still I was glad,
it was one dressing less ! Then in the afternoon
I was carried on a stretcher to the train. I hardly
saw anyone to say good-bye to. I thought of
writing later.
It seemed an interminable journey. By some
mistake I had been put in with the Tommies.
There was no difference in the structure or comfort
of the officers' or Tommies' quarters ; but I knew
they were taking me wrong. However, I was
entirely passive, and did not mind what they did.
The carriage had a corridor all the way down the
centre, and on each side was a succession of berths
in three tiers. On the top tier you must have felt
WOUNDED 287
very high and close up to the roof ; on the centre
one you got a good view out of the windows ;
on the third and lowest tier (which was my lot)
you felt that if there were an accident, you would
not have far to roll ; on the other hand, you were
out of view of orderlies passing along the corridor.
A great thirst consumed me as I lay waiting. I
could see two orderlies in the space by the door
cutting up large pieces of bread and butter. This
made my mouth still drier. Then they brought
in cans of hot tea, and gave it out in white enamel
bowls. I longed for the sting of the tea on my dry
palate, but the orderly was startled when I said,
" I suppose this is all right ; I am an officer." He
said he would tell them, and gave the bowl to the
next man. The bowls were taken away and washed
up, before a cup of tea was at last brought me.
A corporal brought it ; he poured it out of a Uttle
teapot ; but I could not drink it out of a cup. My
left arm lay Uke a log beside me, and I could not
hold my right arm steady and raise my head. So
the corporal went off for a feeding cup. I felt
rather nervy and like a man with a grievance !
And when I got the tea it was nearly cold.
I say it seemed an interminable journey, and
my arm was so frightfully uncomfortable. I had
it across my body, and felt I could not breathe
for the weight of it. At last I felt I must get its
position altered, I called " orderly " every time
an orderly went past : sometimes they paused and
288 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
looked round ; but they could not see me, and
went on. Sometimes they did not hear anything.
I felt as self-conscious and irritated as a man who
calls " waiter " and the waiter does not hear. At
last one heard, and a sister came and fixed me up
with a small pillow under the elbow. I immediately
felt apologetic, and I wondered if she thought me
fussy.
The train made a long, slow grind over the rails ;
and it kept stopping with a griding sound and a
jolt. Why did it go so slowly ? At ten o'clock
I begged and obtained another morphia dose, and
got four hours' sleep from it again.
Saturday
I suppose it was about 7.0 a.m. when we arrived
at fitretat. I was taken and laid in the middle of
rows and rows of Tommies in a big sunny courtyard.
I thought how well the bearers carried the stretchers:
I did not at all feel that I was likely to be dropped
or tilted off on to my arm. There were a lot of
men in blue hospital dress on the steps of a big
house. I wondered where I was : in Havre prob-
ably. It was a queer sensation lying on my back
gazing up at the sun ; we were tightly packed in
together, like cards laid in order, face upwards.
How high everyone looked standing up. Then they
discovered one or two officers, and I said that I
too was an officer. I felt that they rather dared
me to repeat this statement. Then a man looked
WOUNDED 289
at my label, and said : " Yes, he is an officer,"
And I was taken up and carried off.
I found myself put to bed in a spacious room
in which were only two beds. The house had only
recently been finished, and was in use as a hospital.
As soon as I was in bed, I felt a great reUef again.
No more motion for a time, I thought. There was
a man in the other bed, threatened with consump-
tion. We were talking, when a pretty V.A.D.
nurse came in and asked what we wanted for break-
fast. I felt quite hungry, and enjoyed tea and fish.
I began to think that life was going to be good.
I saw Cecil Todd, who had been slightly wounded
a fortnight ago. I condoled with him on not getting
to England. He asked me if I wanted to read.
No, I did not feel like reading. I wrote a letter.
Then two V.A.D. nurses came and dressed my
wound. They seemed surprised to find so big a
one, and sent for the doctor to see it. They
dressed it very well, and gave me no unnecessary
pain.
In the afternoon, I was again moved to a motor
ambulance, which took me to Havre. It jolted
and shook horribly. " This man does not know
what it is like up here," I thought. All the time
I was straining my body to keep the left arm from
touching the jolting stretcher. (The stretchers shde
in the ambulance.) I was a top-berth passenger ;
I could touch the white roof with my right hand ;
and there was a stuffy smell of white paint.
19
290 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
At last it stopped, and after a wait I was carried
amid a sea of heads, along a quay. I could smell
sea and the stale oily smell of a steamer. Then I
was taken over the gangway with that firm, steady,
nodding motion with which I was getting so
familiar, along the deck, through doorways, and
into a big room, all green and white. All round the
edge were beds, into one of which I was helped.
In the centre of the room were beds that somehow
reminded me of cots. I dare say there was a low
railing round the beds that gave me this impres-
sion. A Scotch nurse looked after me. These
nurses were all in grey and red ; the others had
been in blue. I wondered what was the difference.
I asked the name of the ship and they said it was
the Asturias.
Later on a steward brought a menu, and I chose
my own dinner. Apparently I could eat what I
liked. The doctor looked at my wound, and said
it could wait until morning before being dressed ;
he pleased me. I was more comfortable than I
had been yet. The boat was not due out till about
i.o a.m. At eleven o'clock I again asked for
morphia, and so got sleep for another four hours
or so.
Sunday
" I represent Messrs. Cox and Co. Is there any-
thing I can do for any of you gentlemen this
morning ? "
WOUNDED 291
A short, squarely built man, with a black suit, a
bowler hat, and a small brown bag, stepped briskly
into the room. He gave me intense pleasure : as
he talked to a Scotch officer who wanted some
ready cash, I felt that I was indeed back in England
It was a hot sunny day ; and a bowler hat on such
a day made me feel sure that this was really
Southampton, and not all a dream. Sir, whoever
you are, I thank you for your most appropriate
appearance.
The hospital ship had been alongside nearly an
hour, I beheve. It was three o'clock in the after-
noon. Breakfast, the dressing of my wound again,
lunch ; all had followed in an uneventful succession.
The throbbing of the engines as the boat steamed
quietly along had been hardly noticeable at all.
At last there was a bustle, and we were carried
out of the room, out into the sunshine again, and
along the quay to the train. Here I was given a
berth in the middle tier this time, for which I was
very thankful. I felt so utterly tired ; and the
weight of my arm across my body was intolerable.
That seemed a long, long journey too ; but I got
tea without delay this time, and it was hot. At
Farnborough the train stopped and a few men were
taken out. The rest came on to London.
" Is there any special hospital in London you
want to go to ? " said a brisk R.A.M.C. official,
when we reached Waterloo.
" No," I answered.
292 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
He wrote on a label, and put that round my
neck also.
" Lady Carnarvon's," he said.
I lay for some time on the platform of Waterloo
station, gazing up at the vault in the roof. Porters
and stretcher-bearers stood about, and gazed down
at one in silence. Then I was moved into a motor
ambulance, and a Red Cross lady took her seat
in the back. My head was in the front, so that I
could see nothing. Just before the car went off,
a policeman put his head in.
" Any milk or anything ? "
" Would you like any milk or beef tea ? " the
lady said.
" Milk, please."
" He says he would like a little milk," said the
lady.
And then we drove off.
Monday
It was somewhere about ten o'clock Monday
morning. The sister had just finished dressing my
arm ; the doctor had poked it about ; now it lay
cool and quiet along by my side. I had not slept
that night again, except with morphia. I still
felt extraordinarily tired, but was very comfortable.
I watched the tall sister in blue with the white
headdress that reminded me of a nun's cap. She
was so strong and quiet, and seemed to know that
my hand always wanted support at the wrist when
WOUNDED 293
she lifted my arm. I did not want to talk, just to
Ue.
Suddenly I realised that my head was no longer
buzzing. I knew that I should sleep to-night —
at last ! My body relaxed : the tension suddenly
melted away.
" Hurrah ! " I thought, " I have not got to move,
or think, or decide — and I can just lie for hours,
for days."
At last I was out of the grip of war.
CHAPTER XVII
CONCLUSION
IT was a slumbrous afternoon in September. My
wound had healed up a month ago, and I was
lazily convalescent at my aunt's house in one of
the most beautiful parts of Kent. The six soldiers
who were also convalescent there were down in the
hop-garden. For hop-picking was in full swing. I
was sitting in a deck-chair with Don Quixote on my
knees ; but I was not reading. I had apparently
broken the offensive power of the army of midges
by making a brilliant counter-attack with a pipe of
Chairman. The sun blazed mercilessly on the
croquet-lawn ; the balls were lying all together
round one hoop : for there was a golf-croquet
tournament in progress, and the mallets stood about
against various hoops ; one very tidy and proper
mallet was standing primly in the stand at one
corner. My chair was well sited under the cool
shade of a large mulberry tree, in whose thick lofty
branches the wind rustled with a delicious little sigh ;
sometimes a regular little gust would send the
boughs swishing, and then a little rain of red and
white mulberries would plop on to the grass, and
294
CONCLUSION 295
strike the summer-house roof with a smart patter.
On the grass-bank at the side of the lawn, by a
blazing border of orange and red nasturtiums, a
black cat was squatting with tail slowly waving to
and fro, watching a fine large tabby that was sniffing
at the nasturtiums in a nonchalant manner. They
were the best of friends, playing that most interest-
ing of all games, war.
I was not reading : I was Hstening to the in-
cessant murmur that came from far away across the
Medway, across the garden of England, and across
the Channel and the flats of Flanders. That sound
came from Picardy. All day the insistent throb had
been in the air ; sometimes faint bumps were clearly
distinguishable, at other times it was nothing but
one steady vibration. But always it was there,
that distant growl, that insistent mutter. Even in
this perfect peace, I could not escape the War.
To-day I felt completely well ; the lassitude and
inertness of convalescence were gone — at any rate,
for the moment. My mind was very clear, and I
could think surely and rapidly. The cats reminded
me of the lusty family that lived in the cellar in the
Cuinchy trenches, and the murmur of the guns drew
my thoughts across the Channel. I tried to imagine
trenches running across the lawn, with communica-
tion trenches running back to a support line through
the meadow ; a few feet of brick wall would be all
that would be left of the house, and this would
conceal my snipers ; the mulberry tree would long
296 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
ago have been razed to the ground, and every scrap
of it used as firewood in our dug-outs ; this deck
chair of mine might possibly be in use in Company
Headquarters in one of the cellars. No, it was not
easy to imagine war without seeing it.
I picked up the paper that had fallen at my side.
There had been more terrible fighting on the Somme,
and it had seemed very marvellous to a journalist
as he lay on a hill some two miles back, and watched
through his field-glasses : it was wonderful that the
men advancing (if indeed he could really see them
at all in the smoke of a heavy artillery barrage) still
went on, although their comrades dropped all round
them. Yet I wondered what else anyone could do
but go on ? Run back, with just as much Hkelihood
of being shot in doing so ? Or, even if he did get
back, to certain death as a deserter ? Everyone
knows the safest place is in a trench ; and it is a
trench you are making for. Lower down on the page
came a description of the wounded ; he had talked
to so many of them, and they were all smiling, all so
cheerful ; smoking cigarettes and laughing. They
shook their fists, and shouted that the only thing
they wanted to do was to get back into it ! Pah !
I threw the paper down in disgust. Surely no one
wants to read such stuff, I thought. Of course the
men who were not silent, in a dull stupefied agony,
were smiling : what need to say that a man with a
slight wound was laughing at his luck, just as I had
smiled that early morning when the trolley took me
CONCLUSION 297
down from Maple Redoubt ? And who does not
volunteer for an unpleasant task, when he knows he
cannot possibly get it ? Want to get back into it,
indeed ! Ask Tommy ten years hence whether he
wants to be back in the middle of it again !
I wondered why people endured such cheap
joumahsm. What right had men who have never
seen war at all, who creep up on bicycles to get a
ghmpse of it through telescopes, who pester wounded
men, and then out of their pictorial imagination
work up a vivid description — what right have they
to insult heroes by saying that " their wonderful
spirit makes up for it all," that " the paramount
impression is one of glory " ? Are not our people
able to bear the truth, that war is utterly hellish,
that we do not enjoy it, that we hate it, hate it, hate
it all ? And then it struck me how ignorant people
still were ; how uncertainly they spoke, these people
at home : it was as though they dared not think
things out, lest what they held most dear should be
an image shattered by another point of view.
Somehow people were amazed at the cheerfulness,
the doggedness, the endurance under pain, the in-
difference to death, shown every minute during this
war. I thought of the men whom I had seen in
hospital. One man had had his right foot ampu-
tated ; it used to give me agony to see his stump
dressed every day. Another man had both legs
amputated above the knees. Yet they were so
wonderfully cheerful, so apparently content with
19*
298 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
life ! As though alone in the blackness of night they
did not long for the activity denied them for the
rest of their life. As though their cheerfulness — (do
not think I behttle its heroism) — as though their
cheerfulness justified the thing !
Another thing I had noticed. An old man told
me he was so struck with the heroism, the courage,
the indifference to death, shown by the ordinary un-
romantic man. Some men had been converted, too,
their whole Uves changed, their vices eradicated, by
this war. So much good was coming from it.
People, too, at home were so changed, so sobered ;
they were looking into the selfishness of their lives
at last. Again I thought, as though all that justified
the thing !
Oh ! you men and women who did not know
before the capabilities of human nature, I thought,
please take note of it now ; and after the war do not
underestimate the quality of mankind. Did it need
a war to tell you that a man can be heroic, resolute,
courageous, cheerful, and capable of sacrifice ?
There were those who could have told you that
before this war.
There was a lull in the vibration. I turned in my
chair, and listened. Then it began again.
" People are afraid to think it out," I said. " I
have not seen the Somme fighting, but I know what
war is. Its quality is not altered by multiplication
or intensity. The colour of life-blood is a constant
red. Let us look into this business ; let us face all
CONCLUSION 299
the facts. Let us not flinch from any aspect of the
truth."
And my thoughts ran somewhat as follows :
First of all, War is evil — utterly evil. Let us be
sure of that first. It is an evil instrument, even if it
be used for motives that are good. I, who have been
through war and know it, say that it is evil. I knew
it before the war ; instinct, reason, reHgion told me
that war was evil ; now experience has told me
also.
It is a strange synthesis, this war : it is a syn-
thesis of adventure, dulness, good spirits, and
tragedy ; but none of these things are new to human
experience ; nor is human nature altered by war.
It is at war as a whole that we must look in order to
appreciate its quality. And what is war seen as a
whole, or rather seen in the light of my eight months'
experience ? For no one man can truly appraise
war.
I have seen and felt the adventure of war, its
deadly fascination and excitement : it is the greatest
game on earth : that is its terrible power : there is
such a wild temptation to paint up its interest and
glamour : it gives such scope to daring, to physical
courage, to high spirits : it makes so many prove
themselves heroic, that were it not for the fall of the
arrow men would call the drawing of the bow good.
I have seen the dulness, the endless monotony, the
dogged labour, the sheer power of will conquering
the body and " carrying on " : there is good in that,
SOO NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
too. In the jollity, the humour, the good-fellowship,
is nothing but good also. There is good in all these
things ; for these are qualities of human nature
triumphing in spite of war. These things are not
war ; they are the good in man prostituted to a vile
thing.
For I have seen the real face of war : I have seen
men killed, mutilated, blown to little pieces ; I have
seen men crippled for life ; I have looked in the face
of madness, and I know that many have gone
mad under its grip. I have seen fine natures break
and crumble under the strain. I have seen men
grow brutalised, and coarsened in this war. (God
wiU judge justly in the end ; meanwhile, there are
thousands among us — yes, and among our enemy
too — brutalised through no fault of theirs.) I have
lost friends killed (and shall lose more yet), friends
with whom I have lived and suffered so long.
Who is for war now ? Its adventure, its heroism ?
Bah ! Yet this is not all.
For war spares none. It desecrates the beauty of
the earth ; it ruins, it destroys, it wastes ; it starves
children ; it drives out old men, and women, home-
less. And most terrible of all, it brings agony to every
household : it is like a plague of the firstborn. Do not
think I have forgotten you, O women, and old men.
You, too, have to endure the agony of the arena ; you
are compelled to sit and watch us fight the beasts.
Every mother is there in agony, watching her baby,
and unable to stretch a finger to help. Tjiis, too, is
CONCLUSION 301
war — the anguish of mothers whose sons perish,
of wives who lose their husbands, of girls robbed for
all time of marriage and motherhood.
And this vile thing is still perpetrated upon the
earth among peoples who have long ago declared
human sacrifice impossible and barbaric.
This then is a basal fact. We have faced it fairly.
The instrument is vile. What then of the motive ?
What is the motive which drives us to use this evil
instrument ? And I see you fathers and mothers
waiting to hear what I shall say. For there are
people who whisper that we who are fighting are
vindictive, that we lust for the blood of our enemies,
that we are coarse and brutal, that we are unholy
champions of what we call a just cause. Again let
us face the facts. And to these whisperers I answer
boldly : " Yes ! we are coarse, some of us ; we are
vindictive ; we hate ; we do not deny it." For war
in its vileness taints its human instruments too.
When Davidson died I cried death upon his mur-
derers. I called them devils, and worse. I am not
ashamed.
That is not the point. What I or Tommy may be
at a given moment is not the point. The question is,
with what motives did we enter this war, agree to
take up this vile instrument ? We cannot help if
it soils our hands. What is our motive in fighting
in the arena ? What provokes the dumb heroism
of our soldiers ? Why did men flock to the colours,
volunteer in millions for the arena ? You know.
302 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
I who have lived with them eight months in France,
I also know. It was because a people took up this
vile instrument and used it from desire of power.
Because they trampled on justice, and challenged
us to thwart them. Because they willed war for the
sake of wrong ; because they said that force was
master of the world, and they set out to prove it.
Yet, it is sometimes said, war is unchristian. If
men were Christian there would be no war. You
cannot conquer evil by evil. I agree, if men were
Christian there would be no war. I agree that you
cannot conquer evil by evil ; but it is war that is
evil, not our motive in going to war. We are con-
quering an evil spirit by a good spirit, even if we are
using an evil instrument. And if you say that
Christ would not fight, I say that none of us would
fight if the world had attained the Christian plane
towards which we are slowly rising : but we are still
on a lower plane, and in it there is a big war raging ;
and in the arena there are many who have felt Christ
by their side.
That, then, is the second point. I knew that war
was vile, before I w^ent into it. I have seen it : I do
not alter my opinion. I went into this war prepared
to sacrifice my life to prove that right is stronger
than wrong ; I have stood again and again with a
traverse between me and death ; I have faced the
possiblity of madness. I foresaw aU this before I
went into this war. Wliat difference does it make
that I have experienced it ? It makes no difference.
CONCLUSION 303
Let no one fear that our sacrifice has been in vain.
We have akeady won what we are fighting for. The
will for war, that aggressive power, with all the cards
on its side prepared, striking at its own moment,
has already failed against a spirit, weaker, un-
prepared, taken unawares. And so I am clear on
my second point. We arc fighting from just motives,
and we have already baulked injustice. Aggressive
force, the power that took up the cruel weapon of
war, has failed. No one can ever say that his
countrymen have laid down their lives in vain.
I got up from the chair, and started walking about
the garden. Everything was so clear. Before going
out to the war I had thought these things ; but the
thoughts were fluid, they ran about in mazy pat-
terns, they were elusive, and always I was frightened
of meeting unanswerable contradictions to my
theorising from men who had actually seen war.
Now my conclusions seemed crystalUsed by irrefut-
able experience into sohd truth.
After a while I sat down again and resumed my
train of thought :
War is evil. Justice is stronger than Force. Yet,
was there need of all this bloodshed to prove this ?
For this war is not as past wars ; this is every man's
war, a war of civihans, a war of men who hate war,
of men who fight for a cause, who are compelled to
kill and hate it. That is another thing that people
will not face. Men whisper that Tommy does not
304 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
hate Fritz. Again I say, away with this whispering.
Let us speak it out plain and bold. Private Davies,
my orderly, formerly a shepherd of Blaenau Fest-
iniog, has no quarrel with one Fritz Schneider of
Hamburg who is sitting in the trench opposite the
Matterhorn sap ; yet he will bayonet him certainly
if he comes over the top, or if we go over into the
German trenches ; ay, he will perform this action
with a certain amount of brutaHty too, for I have
watched him jabbing at rats with a bayonet through
the wires of a rat trap, and I know that he has in him
a savage vein of cruelty. But when peace is declared,
he and Fritz will Hght a bonfire of trench stores in
No Man's Land, and there will be the end of their
quarrel. I say boldly, I know. For indeed I know
Davies very well indeed.
Again I say, was there need of all this bloodshed ?
Who is responsible ? Who is responsible for Lance-
Corporal Allan lying in the trench in Maple Redoubt?
Again I see yon glittering eyes looking down upon
me in the arena. And Davies, too, in his slow simple
way, is beginning to take you in, and to ask you why
he is put there to fight ? Is it for your pleasure ?
Is it for your expediency ? Is it a necessary part of
your great game ? Necessary ? Necessary for
whom ? Davies and Fritz alike are awaiting your
answer.
It is hard to trace ultimate causes. It is hard to
fix absolute responsibility. There were many seeds
sown, scattered, and secretly fostered before they
CONCLUSION 305
produced this harvest of blood. The seeds of
cruelty, selfishness, ambition, avarice, and in-
difference, are always liable to swell, grow, and bud,
and blossom suddenly into the red flower of war.
Let every man look into his heart, and if the
seeds are there let him make quick to root them
out while there is time ; unless he wishes to join
those glittering eyes that look down upon the
arena.
These are the seeds of war. And it is because
they know that we, too, are not free from them,
that certain men have stood out from the arena as
a protest against war. These men are real heroes,
who for their conscience's sake are enduring taunts,
ignominy, misunderstanding, and worse. Most men
and women in the arena are cursing them, and, as they
struggle in agony and anguish, they beat their hands
at them and cry "You do not care." I, too, have
cursed them, when I was mad with pain. But I
know them, and I know that they are true men. I
would not have one less. They are witnesses against
war. And I, too, am fighting war. Men do not
understand them now, but one day they will.
I know that there are among us, too, the seeds of
war : no cause has yet been perfect. But I look at
the facts. We did not start, we did not want this
war. We have gone into it, fighting for the better
cause. Whether, had we been more Christian, we
might have prevented the war, is not the point. We
did not want this war : we are fighting against it.
306 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
It was the seeds of war in Germany that were
responsible. And so history will judge.
But what of the future ? How are we to save
future generations from going down into the arena ?
We will rearrange the map of Europe : we will
secure the independence of small states : we will
give the power to the people : there shall be an end
of tyrannies. So men speak easily of an inter-
national spirit, of a world conference for peace.
There is so great a will-power against war, they say,
that we will secure the world for the future. Millions
of men know the vileness of war ; they will devise
ways and means to prevent its recurrence. I agree.
Let us try all ways. Yet I see no guarantee in all
this against the glittering eyes : I see no power in
all this knowledge against a new generation fostering
and harvesting the seeds of war. Men have long
known that war is evil. Did that knowledge prevent
this war ? Will that knowledge secure India or
China from the power of the glittering eyes ?
I walked up and down the lawn, my eyes glowing,
my brain working hard. Here around me was all
the beauty of an old garden, its long borders full of
phloxes, delphiniums, stocks, and all the old familiar
flowers ; the apples glowed red in the trees ; the
swallows were skimming across the lawn. In the
distance I could hear the rumble of the waggon
bringing up the afternoon load of hop-pokes to the
oasthouse. Yet what I had seen of war was as true.
CONCLUSION 307
had as really happened, as all this. It would be so
easy to forget, after the war. And yet to forget
might mean a seed of war. I must never forget
Lance-Corporal Allan.
There is only one sure way, I said at last. And
again a clear conviction filled me. There is only one
way to put an end to the arena. Pledges and treaties
have failed ; and force will fail. These things may
bring peace for a time, but they cannot crush those
ghttering eyes. There is only one Man whose eyes
have never glittered. Look at the palms of your
hands, you, who have had a bullet through the
middle of it ! Did they not give you morphia to
ease the pain ? And did you not often cry out alone
in the darkness in the terrible agony, that you did
not care who won the war if only the pain would
cease ? Yet one Man there was who held out His
hand upon the wood, while they knocked, knocked,
knocked in the nail, every knock bringing a jarring,
excruciating pain, every bit as bad as yours. And
any moment His will-power could have weakened,
and He could have saved Himself that awful pain.
And then they nailed through the other hand : and
then the feet. And as they lifted the Cross, all the
weight came upon the pierced hands. And when
He had tasted the vinegar He would not drink.
And any moment He could have come down from
the Cross : yet He so cared that love should win the
war against evil, that He never wavered. His eyes
308 NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE
never glittered. Do you want to put an end to the
arena ? Here is a Man to follow. In hoc signo
vinces.
I stood up again, and stretched out my hands.
And as I did so a memory came back vivid and
strong. I remembered the night when I stood out
on the hillside by Trafalgar Square, under the moon.
And I remembered how I had felt a strength out of
the pain, and even as the strength came a more un-
utterable weakness, the weakness of a man battering
against a wall of steel. The sound of the relentless
guns had mocked at me. Now as I stood on the
lawn, I heard the long continuous vibration of the
guns upon the Somme.
" You are War," I said aloud. " This is your
hour, the power of darkness. But the time will come
when we shall follow the Man who has conquered
your last weapon, death : and then your walls of
steel will waver, cringe, and fall, melted away before
the fire of LOVE."
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